ManagerKlok
by AbelValentine
Summary: Charles Ofdensen had never cared about anything but power; that is, until Pickles upset his balance. Meanwhile, Toki and Skwisgaar maintain their relationship through many obstacles: what might have the power to tear them apart? C/P, T/S.
1. Chapter 1

Charles Foster Ofdensen believed human life to be expendable; especially if it was in the way of what he wanted. His compulsive tendencies were his greatest, self-proclaimed quality, allowing him the impressive ability to get just about _anything _done; through persuasion, money, hard work, torture, intimidation—he'd indulged in all of the formerly mentioned.

Amorality was his cash crop, indifference his right hand man.

He was in a position now where he could snap his fingers and have the world at his feet. Keeping Dethklok happy, despite his dedication to the task, came in second place to his lust for power. BMWs, Blackberry and LG touch screen phones, LCD-screened HD televisions, Armani suits, front row tickets to all the Broadway shows in New York City—all of these things were nothing compared to the overwhelming, God-like supremacy he felt at the head of such an empire. There was absolutely nothing to hold him back. _Nothing_ could get in his way. He was highly skilled, well trained and smarter than all hell; but more importantly, he was completely underestimated.

And this underestimation was what fueled Charles' rise to power in this kingdom that was the music industry. While Dethklok played the shows, made the records and fought over what to watch on TV while in the hot tub, Ofdensen had been slowly building their armies, investing in the New York Stock Exchange and negotiating contracts with foreign countries. He had literally built this domain from the ground up and single-handedly maintained the well-oiled machine that was Dethklok.

He could, quite literally, talk his way out of mostly every situation; except those where physical force was necessary, and he was very fair at that, as well. Above everything, his most finely-tuned skill was manipulation. Charles Ofdensen manipulated _everything_ around him—time, budgets, laws, loopholes in contracts and sometimes other people's words—to his advantage. Most important, however, and probably the most unnoticed, was his capability to manipulate people.

It was almost Socratic; he could have you turning on your own values and beliefs in a _second_, if he felt it constructive to do so. He could have the entire world convinced of basically anything by a single statement.

More than anything, it was important to him that his past remain elusive and that he remain seemingly harmless. As long as he pulled the strings, including Dethklok's, then everything was running efficiently. His livelihood was airtight and he made damn sure that no one could do the job like he could.

Because, after all the only other option for Charles…was death.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The manager had been sitting at his desk for hours, reviewing their music video director's contract when the phone rang.

"Yes?" He asked monotonously, bringing the receiver to his ear.

"My lord," the low, faceless voice of a random Klokateer made the manager sigh, "a fan has breached the grounds."

"Snipe him," Ofdensen ordered immediately, sounding quite bored, "And then execute three of the perimeter guards who were on duty when he invaded."

"Yes, sir."

Charles hung up, only to be disturbed once more by a soft knock at his door.

"Come in," he called, tossing down his pen in a surrendering, frustrated gesture.

He was slightly surprised to see the freckled face of a familiar, red-headed drummer as the younger man casually strolled in.

"Pickles," he said flatly, "What can I do for you?"

"Hey, Ahfdensen."

Pickles didn't bother apologizing for the interruption—none of Dethklok ever did. As far as he was usually concerned, he was the most important thing on the manager's to-do list.

But as he sat down in the luxurious chair across from Charles' desk, he didn't look arrogantly significant at all. He looked nervous and, quite frankly, embarrassed.

He played absentmindedly with one of his longest dreads and kept his gaze on the floor. Ofdensen noticed the drummer's bouncing leg before trailing his eyes—quite happily—to Pickles' face. He wasn't hard on the eyes, at least, and Charles felt more than allowed to drink in the younger man's attractive features.

"…Pickles?" he asked again, furrowing his brow. His concern for the troubled state of a band member was usually feigned, unless it interrupted business; however, the drummer's distress was quite palpable.

"Oh, heh, sarry," Pickles tore his eyes from the floor to meet the older man's. "Well, I, uh…Ah've been thinkin'…nat very hard, but…"

"Yes?"

Hopefully this wasn't about Snakes 'N Barrels. It seemed that Pickles' presence in his office was usually connected with his former band.

"Well…" the drummer went on, "are dere, uh…any good…yak n ow, detox centers around here?" His face fell into a sheepish blush.

Ofdensen froze. Was Pickles really suggesting his own admittance to a rehabilitation clinic? Something monumental must have sparked this; however, the hardened manager's first thought was about image.

"I suppose it could be possible to transform part of the hospital wing. It may be more prudent to treat you here, if you with to do so."

Pickles blinked. _Damn_, Charles was cold. And he wasn't listening.

"No," the younger man's expression grew a bit angry. "I don't wanna be _here_. I want ta go _away_." Maybe he hadn't been clear enough.

Ofdensen leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk in a very business-like manner. Transporting Pickles to a rehab facility under the media's nose would be nearly impossible. But privacy contracts for the employees and other patients could be drawn up.

"There are a few, yes," Charles admitted, "however, I believe you should consider the possible repercussions of risking the _privacy _of this matter."

"I don't care," Pickles said, leaning back in the chair more comfortably now. "Da fans won't give a shit. Whaddo dey care if Ah'm tryin' ta get clean?"

Charles sighed. He did think it quite brave of the younger man, though he had little knowledge of his reasons. He leaned back in his leather chair.

"Well, Pickles, if it's truly what you _want_, then it could be arranged. I will find the most satisfactory hospital and get the necessary information—at which time you and I will sit down and discuss treatment options. Alright?"

The drummer nodded, the nervous, agitated expression creeping back onto his face.

"Yee-uh, thanks."

He rose and headed for the door before Charles came to a realization.

"Pickles?"

"Hm?" He turned to face the manager, his hand on the door knob.

"You want to be away from the other guys, don't you?"

Pickles chuckled bitterly.

"Nat exactly the best influences if yer tryin' ta get sober." He shrugged. "We're not supposed to intervene in each udder's shit, anyways."

Charles nodded once, curtly and watched the redhead carefully.

"I see…well, I will call you back in tomorrow."

Pickles smiled a soft, distant smile and left swiftly.

That had certainly been unexpected. Charles sighed heavily, picking up the phone to call around and find a proper place to send Pickles. Dethklok always _had_ kept him on his toes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Toki woke up to the usual site of a naked Swede beside him. Skwisgaar had tossed the fur comforter completely off of him during the night, which wasn't uncommon; and to Toki, it was welcome. The Norwegian turned on his side to face his lover, his eyes tracing the gentle curves of Skwisgaar's sinewy muscles. He reached out, running a finger softly in circles on the pale skin of his back.

They were coming up on their three year anniversary. Toki was sure that Skwisgaar wouldn't remember it—after all, he never did. Regardless, it was exciting to think about. _Three_ _years_ they'd been together, and out to the other guys for two of them.

Skwisgaar groaned and turned his face toward Toki, smiling slightly but keeping his eyes closed.

"God morgon," he mumbled. There were three situations in which Skwisgaar would almost always revert back to his native language—early mornings, sex and fits of anger.

"Goods morning," Toki replied back softly.

The blonde squirmed over to lay his head on the younger man's shoulder, burying his face in the soft, chestnut brown hair. He sighed lazily and continued in Swedish.

"/s/ Do we have rehearsal today? /s/"

Toki nodded and proceeded to answer him in Norwegian. It only took seconds of translation in their heads to understand each other. And it had always seemed more intimate, even when alone, speaking so that the other guys couldn't possibly know what they were saying.

"/n/ Yeah, but we have a band meeting first. Mr. Manager slipped a note under your door. /n/"

A Klokateer actually delivered the note, but it was written, in perfect, slanted scroll, by Ofdensen. There was a band meeting at eleven o'clock that morning.

It was 10:59.

"Oh nos!" Toki cried as he glanced at the clock. He jumped up and Skwisgaar shoved his face back into his pillow, annoyed. "The meetins ams in ones minutes!"

Skwisgaar pushed him up on his elbows and watched Toki scramble around trying to find his clothes. He chuckled.

"Pfft, likes we nevers been lates, ah? Settles down."

But Toki _hated_ being the last ones there; all the other guys always looked at them strangely, obviously thinking it was because they'd just been fucking. Skwisgaar had always been pretty apathetic about the rest of the band knowing about his homosexual attraction to the rhythm guitarist. He'd fucked guys before, especially in Sweden: sex was sex, after all.

He'd allowed them to get caught from time to time, that was certain. They'd started by making out in closets and fooling around in the hot tub when they thought everyone was in bed; Toki had been slightly mortified when Nathan had once walked in on the Norwegian on his knees in front of Skwisgaar in the recording room.

The guitarists' relationship had never been easy. At first, Toki made Skwisgaar swear to be monogamous. But soon enough, the younger man felt the exhaustion of the Swede's impossibly large sexual appetite. It was_ grueling. _And finally, Toki agreed to let Skwisgaar sleep with whoever he wanted, but with stipulations.

He _had_ to come home to Toki every night. He would be tested for STDs monthly. He would never talk about his other sexual encounters to Toki. Skwisgaar could _not _sleep with other men; it could only be women. (Toki didn't like the idea of him fucking another male; he knew that women meant nothing to the blonde.) And, when the Norwegian was willing, Skwisgaar had to choose him over anyone else.

So far, the Swede was quite happy with the "rules". He would admit to anyone that he was a sex addict, but he always _preferred_ Toki. If the younger man was too tired, or sore, he found a random slut and got it all out of his system, no strings attached. He never really felt the need to fuck another guy; Toki was really a major exception for him. Perhaps that was what made it so special and meaningful.

Toki tossed the Swede's pants at him and they landed on his bare back.

"Comes _on_!"

Skwisgaar chuckled and got up, walking casually over to Toki and pulling him close from behind, grabbing him by the hips. He heard the younger man gasp slightly and smirked, putting his lips to Toki's ear.

"Aw, littles Toki, scareds of gettinks in trouble…"

The Norwegian scowled. He hated being patronized, even when he knew it was playful, and especially when there was nothing he could do about it; he _never_ pulled away from Skwisgaar's touch. But he shivered slightly as the blonde licked up the rim of his ear.

"I just…o-ohh…don'ts want to…makes Mr. Managers mad…"

He was starting to lose his persistence and suddenly thought that staying a few more minutes wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Skwisgaar's hands began to roam, feeling down the rhythm guitarist's bare chest—Toki'd only managed to yank on his pants in his flurry—and then his stomach, his long fingers tracing the lines of his lover's firm muscles. His tongue continued along Toki's ear and Toki let out a small moan.

"Please…" was all he could manager to whisper.

Skwisgaar smiled triumphantly. He turned Toki around, keeping his hands at the younger man's hips. The Norwegian brought his arms up to wrap around the Swede's slender neck. He liked this position; it made him feel awfully feminine, but it felt right. He didn't mind taking the submissive stance.

"Whats do yous want?" Skwisgaar purred, his thumbs rubbing in circles on Toki's hips.

"Anyt'ings…I just wants yous…" he answered.

The blonde leaned down, kissing Toki in a rewarding manner, having gotten what he wanted. Besides, it would be hot to sit at the breakfast table with Toki all flustered, knowing that _he_ had done that to him. The younger man was easy to muddle, always being slightly awkward in public after sexual attention. It was hilarious.

As Skwisgaar sank to his knees, Toki's eyes widened slightly. It wasn't something he normally saw; when he _did_ get sucked off, it was almost always dark or in bed after he'd already done it to Skwisgaar.

The Swede kissed down Toki's chiseled abs, to his hip bone, talking intermittently.

"Yous have…beens such…a goods boy. I musts be…rewardinks you…"

He rolled his eyes up to glance at Toki's expression and felt even more smug. The younger man was in total awe, his mouth hanging open, his eyes expectant and grateful. He put his hands in Skwisgaar's pale hair, stroking affectionately, then he nodded.

"I's be goods. I wills stays here as longs as you wants…" His eyes were clouded and heavy with lust.

Skwisgaar nodded back.

"Ja. Yous will stay untils I ams good and done."

Toki felt his already hard cock twitch at that command. Skwisgaar unbuttoned the younger man's jeans, pulling them down slightly to reveal the hard flesh. Giving a blowjob had never been the Swede's favorite activity; but he did like how it made Toki react. He'd never imagined how much pleasure he could get by _giving_ pleasure in return and it became fascinating to him once he'd claimed Toki, years ago.

The blonde held Toki's cock at its base, licking up his length while he watched his younger lover's face; Toki gasped, letting his head fall back, his eyes rolling back into his head. He kept petting Skwisgaar's head, though it became heavier. The Swede was glad that Toki had a pretty regular sized dick; he didn't want to have any competition in that area and Skwisgaar was certainly the bigger of the two.

He began to bob and Toki began his usual whimpering. A string of lovely Norwegian escaped his lips and this was a great source of encouragement for Skwisgaar; but he wanted to draw it out, to make them later to the meeting than just a few minutes.

Skwisgaar went about everything very slowly; he would take nearly all of Toki's cock into his mouth and pull back at an agonizing pace, sucking hard as he did. When he would reach the head, he would swirl his tongue and stop to pay it a little extra attention.

"Uhhhnn…S-..Skwisgaar…" Toki groaned, his voice pleading, "comes _on_…"

Skwisgaar grinned wickedly and shook his head.

"No no, littles pet, I tolds you dats you waits until I ams done."

He continued, unhurried and quite leisurely about the activity. Toki fell forward slightly, the hand that wasn't buried in Skwisgaar' hair now clinging to the Swede's shoulder to hold himself up. His impossibly long, chestnut hair fell to partially cover the Swede's shoulders.

"Nej, S-…Skwis-…" Toki could barely choke out a moan. While the pace _was_ slow, it was too erotic to not drive him crazy and he could feel himself thankfully building toward exploding.

After several more moments of torture, Skwisgaar's jaw began to be sore and he decided to give in. He bobbed faster, twisting Toki at the base for extra stimulation. Toki's eyes shot open and his body jerked as he clung to his lover for support.

"O-OH!! J-…Ja, Skw-…J-Jeg elsker d-deg, ohhhh…."

Skwisgar had gotten used to Toki telling him that he loved him; particularly in moments of passion, and almost _always_ in Norwegian. The Swede had yet to say it back, though he'd expressed it in many other ways; he thought that an amazing blowjob was a pretty good way. That would have to do for now.

After a few more bobs, Toki's body spasmed without warning and he spilled his hot liquid into Skwisgaar's mouth. The blonde tried to swallow it all, but failed, pulling back after a mouthful and sputtering a bit. He greedily licked off what he could off of Toki's cock.

Toki was pretty much draped over Skwisgaar, completely spent. Skwisgaar stood, mouthing a painful "Owww.." as he rubbed his sore knees. He helped Toki stand and pulled him to the bed, falling back with the younger man in his arms.

Toki half-sighed, half-groaned, clinging to the Swede. He opened his eyes and glanced down only to remember that Skwisgaar hadn't gotten dressed at all; and that his impressive, bare cock was hard and looked quite painful.

Still laying on his lover's shoulder, his entire body lax, he reached down and wrapped his fingers around Skwisgaar's length.

"O-Ohhh…Ja, Toki…"

He was actually amazed that he'd been able to forget about his own throbbing erection for so long. He flushed at the sensation. Toki forced himself from his reverie to at least trail kisses along Skwisgaar's jaw line and neck, while he worked him quite expertly with his hand.

His cock was already slick with pre cum and it certainly didn't take long for Toki to have the Swede squirming and flittering in Swedish.

"/s/ Oh yes, right there…p-please, yes….ODIN, you're beautiful, Toki…/s/"

Toki smiled wide at that, nuzzling Skwisgaar's ear and flicking his tongue out to caress it gently. But suddenly, without warning, Toki ceased his onslaught on the Swede's cock. Skwisgaar cried out interrogatively, sounding quite pissed.

"Whats de hell?!"

"Shh," Toki whispered, "Yous is goings to likes dis…I's promise."

"What ams you doing, I's was likinks w-…whats yous ams JUST doings!"

"Hold on!" Toki said defensively, sounding rather frustrated. He scooted down a bit, still lying beside Skwisgaar's thing body. Skwisgaar watched with anticipation, wondering if the younger man was going to go down on him.

But he was confused to see Toki spread his legs a bit further and reach down—but go past his cock. Toki watched Skwisgaar quite carefully as one finger ran across the older man's entrance. The Swede's eyes widened significantly.

"Toki…" his voice was strange—soft, but almost dangerous, "whats ams you doing?"

The Norwegian bit his lip and spoke very softly; he knew that it would be a long shot that Skwisgaar would let him do this, let alone like it like _he _did. But it was worth a shot.

"Is okays, Skwis. I's nots goings to hurts you."

"You're not fuckinks me," the blonde said plainly, almost angrily.

Toki shook his head, keeping his voice and expression soft and harmless.

"I knows, I's nots goings to."

Skwisgaar swallowed hard and shifted a bit, Toki's pre cum-slicked finger now frozen at his entrance. The younger man took the silence as temporary permission and poked his finger in shallowly, just barely past the impossibly tight ring of muscle at the entry.

He watched as the lead guitarist's face contorted into a look of discomfort and slight anxiety.

"Relax," Toki cooed. He decided that this might be easier with distraction and so he scooted down even further so that he could stroke Skwisgaar's cock with his other hand. He moved between the Swede's legs now, one finger burying itself in his lover's ass, the other entertaining his erection.

"O-Oh…" Skwisgaar practically squeaked. It was a strange sensation…and he wasn't sure how prepared he'd been for it. But with the stroking alongside it, it was easier to bare. He just didn't want to be _fucked_. He couldn't handle that.

Toki kept his strokes slow, wanting to further explore this new territory. He pushed his finger in deeper, until it was to the knuckle. Feeling the hot, inside of Skwisgaar was the most amazing feeling he'd ever experienced; he knew what it was like to have someone _inside_ of you and he wanted to share that. He never really felt it had to be _equal_, as he knew that they each had their own roles in the relationship. But that didn't mean that Skwisgaar couldn't allow him in from time to time, to keep the connection.

There was a healthy blush on the Swede's usually pale cheeks. Unintentionally, he bucked his hips towards Toki's hand, but also against his surrounded finger.

"T-Toki, /s/ it…I…can't describe…/s/"

He bucked more quickly and Toki mercifully stroked harder, moving his finger in and out of the lead guitarist hungrily, licking his lips.

"/s/ Oh YES! Please, you-…that…feels so good, just…please don't go…don't go, don't go…don't go…/s/"

Skwisgaar wasn't sure why he kept saying it; he tended to get stuck in loops during times of pleasure, usually repeating one phrase or word that meant something to him at the time.

"/n/ I'm here…/n/" Toki replied silkily, kissing and biting the Swede's thigh lovingly. Skwisgaar was so beautiful when he was submissive…

Almost right after Toki's words, Skwisgaar came, arching his back and crying out loudly. His body shook with orgasm as he saw stars.

Toki removed his finger from the Swede and crawled up beside him, nuzzling, kissing and whispering sweet nothings. As silly as it seemed, it was what Skwisgaar needed; he pulled Toki down to embrace him, quite readily, as if he wanted reassurance of…something.

The Norwegian smiled.

"Dats was…nice," he whispered.

"Ja," Skwisgaar breathed, his eyes closed, trying to regain consciousness, "but don'ts…you knows, gets used to its."

Toki nodded, but deep down…he had other intentions.

"Comes on, we'd betters gets going."

It was now 11:32. Perfect.

They threw on some clothes, promising each other a nice, long shower after the stupid, dildo meeting. They prepared themselves for shit about being late, entering the dining room a bit sheepishly. But they seemed to be the least of everyone's worries.

Pickles was standing by Charles, at the head of the table, his arms crossed. He looked _mad_. Or hurt. Or maybe it was a mix of both. Charles looked rather annoyed and they were both staring at Nathan, who appeared to be in quite a surly mood.

Skwisgaar plopped down beside Murderface, whispering.

"Whats is…dis alls about?"

William snorted and leaned over to the blonde.

"Picklesch isch goin' to rehab and Nathan'sch pissched."

Skwisgaar exchanged a look with Toki before listening in on the singer's conversation with the other men.

"I just don't understand why you can't…ya know, stay here," Nathan grumbled, not looking at Pickles. He chose the table as a visual distraction instead.

"Dats cuz yer a fuckin' idiot," Pickles spat and Charles sighed.

"Nathan," Ofdensen began, "Pickles feels it would be easier if he did this alone, seeing as…the rest of you still…_use_ substances. Like alcohol."

The drummer nodded. Nathan grunted disapprovingly.

Skwisgaar opened his mouth before he could think too hard about it.

"Pickles, yous…gots a problems wid drinkinks now? But you loves it!"

The redhead looked quite nervous to be addressed by Skwisgaar. He shifted on his feet and looked down, becoming almost ashamed.

"I…don't like who I am when Ah'm drunk, dat's all. Ah'm tired of it. I wanna get clean."

It was Charles who caught Pickles glance upward as his head hung, barely noticeable at all, and flash a look to Toki, who blushed and looked quickly away. The manager narrowed his eyes slightly and made a mental note. Finally, he was ready to end this.

"Look, everyone, Pickles is _going_ to rehab. He won't be gone for too long, but this is _his_ decision and I suggest you…uh…all be supportive."

Nathan sulked, crossing his arms. Toki kept looking at the floor, unnoticed to Skwisgaar, who watched Pickles with a confused look. Murderface sighed and nodded, the only one who seemed of any encouragement to the drummer.

"Do whatcha gotta do, man. If you wanna get schober, then get schober."

Pickles smiled softly.

"Theenks, Murderface," he said softly before turning to leave.

Toki excused himself and briefly touched Skwisgaar's arm softly before following the drummer. He found him in his room, sitting on the bed with his face in his hands. The Norwegian bit his lip, contemplating turning around and leaving. But he decided firmly that this needed to be talked about…

"Pickle…"

Toki's soft voice made Pickles jump slightly. He hadn't realized that the much younger man had been standing in his doorway.

"Oh, hey…"

They stared at each other for what felt like eons, before Toki finally spoke again.

"Please don'ts go…because of me. Because ofs whats happened…"

Pickles motioned for Toki to come in and shut the door, so the Norwegian did just that. He took a few more steps into the room carefully and the drummer shook his head.

"Does Skwisgaar know?" he asked warily.

Toki shook his head.

"Nej, I…hasn'ts tolds him."

"Ah'm nat…leavin' cuz 'a you. I really jes'…need to get outta here. And get clean. It's somethin' I gatta do, Toki."

The guitarist nodded, not sure what to believe. It had only been a day since Pickles had stumbled into his room…muttered something about having always been in love with him…and pulled Toki into a passionate, soul-jerking kiss.

Only to pull away and utter his damning word. Name, actually. "Charles…"

Toki was surprised that Pickles had been drunk enough to mistake him for the manager, but he hadn't taken offense; he was just grateful that it wasn't _him_ who the drummer was confessing his love for.

"Pickles, haves you…ever…thoughts about-"

But the older man cut him off immediately.

"I don't need ta think about anything, okee? It was…a mistake. I was drunk, it didn't mean nothin'."

Then why did his insides feel so twisted?

Toki swallowed back the rest of his words and nodded.

"Okays…just…keeps in touch, ja? And comes backs soon?" He looked truly hopeful.

Pickles smiled distantly. He'd always been fond of Toki, and those feelings were reciprocated; Pickles had always been the nicest to him, overall, even when he'd first joined the band.

"Yeah, sure, kid. I'll do dat. Now I gatta pack."

Toki left quickly after giving the drummer an awkward, tiny hug, shutting his door. Pickles put his face in his hands, sighing in a desperate way. Nathan _really _didn't want him to leave, mainly because it was going to delay the writing process for their next album.

But Pickles was determined. His drinking was going to lead to some slip-ups if he wasn't careful: ones that weren't as harmless as kissing Toki.

He just might end up confessing his obsession to Ofdensen…and that was the _last_ thing he wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles had decided on a very small, but quite luxurious facility suitable for Pickles' detoxification. He registered the drummer under a different name, created extensive contracts for each employee to sign relating to privacy and secured the biggest, most isolated room. The next week, on a Tuesday afternoon, he called the drummer into his office and relayed this information.

Pickles seemed slightly robotic to the whole situation, but this only served to alleviate the workload for Ofdensen; he was quite used to resistance, or protest from the boys. However, the drummer would simply nod his head and agree to whatever extravagancies had to be observed.

After his debriefing, the redhead rose and began to leave, barely having said a word. Charles sighed, feeling slightly frustrated, and decided to ask.

"Pickles…are you all right?"

Pickles stopped, leaving the door shut; he wasn't sure whether Ofdensen actually cared, and that was a little more than heart breaking.

Over the years, he'd developed quite the attachment to the manager. It had been completely unwelcome initially and led to some mistreatment on his part. He had no idea how to handle a "man crush", so he'd tried to act as indifferent to Charles as he could. He supposed now, it was only fair.

Charles narrowed his eyes slightly as Pickles made his way back to his desk. This time, the drummer stood right on the other side, looking down at the older man. He had an odd look in his beautiful, green eyes…a look of almost determination.

"No. Ah'm nat fine," he stated plainly.

Charles took in a slow, deep breath. He couldn't ignore the electrical charge between the two of them; it had always been present. He took pleasure in being particularly hard on Pickles—perhaps it was his sadistic side. But really, it was just fondness. He found the drummer to be the most mentally capable out of everyone in the band. He often thought his subtle teasing went unnoticed to Pickles, but it was clear that the younger man recognized it.

"Well, that's nothing new…" the manager added sarcastically, deciding to push the drummer's buttons.

"Don't tahk ta me like dat," Pickles dared, scowling slightly.

Charles simply smiled, seemingly completely relaxed.

"You know…I still believe you should stay here for treatment."

"Oh really, do ya now? And why's dat?"

Pickles tilted his head slightly after his question. He wasn't sure what he was trying to force from Ofdensen—perhaps just a response that wasn't mechanical. He figured that if he was a total smartass, then Charles would have no choice but to burst from his stoic shell.

But he remained placid.

"Because it would be in the best interest of the band."

Pickles grit his teeth slightly.

"Nobody cares if I go." It was more of a question than anything and Charles picked up on it. He actually felt a little taken aback.

Was Pickles wanting to hear someone tell him not to go? Hadn't that been what he'd just suggested? Though, of course, it had been in a business-like way. Perhaps he wanted reassurance that at least _someone_ would miss him…

"Don't be silly," Charles breathed, sounding quite bored, "everyone would prefer it if you were here. Just look at Nathan."

Pickles laughed bitterly.

"He jes' wants me ta stay so we kin write."

Ofdensen considered Pickles for a moment, looking him up and down, just with his eyes. His gaze flickered to the door and his thoughts slowly began to darken…

He rose and strode over to the door. He locked it carefully and turned back to the drummer. Pickles swallowed hard, his determination faltering slightly. He couldn't help that nagging feeling that surfaced that told him he was in _trouble_. How childish.

"What would you like, Pickles?" Charles' voice became rather velvety, semi-taunting. "Do you want me to tell you that…_I_ don't want you to go?"

He walked up slowly behind the drummer, but just stood there, waiting.

Pickles' instinctually leaned forward a bit, his hands on the desk. He could feel Ofdensen _right_ behind him…close…close enough for this to be another one of his dreams.

"…maybe I do. Is dat true?"

How the hell was this happening? He'd almost thought he was imagining, for all those years, the static between them. But now it seemed as if Charles was privy to his mind, knowing that Pickles had always wanted him…but always wanted to deny it. It almost sounded as if the manager was seducing him. Would that be so hard to imagine?

_Yes._

"Perhaps it is," Charles mused, and slid one hand up the drummer's back. It made Pickles' shudder. "But you can understand my caution."

His voice was almost bemused, torturous, and he continued as Pickles was paralyzed.

"You have no idea…the pressure that I endure..." He emphasized his words by running his other hand up to begin giving Pickles' a slow shoulder massage, working every muscle in the drummer's back. The younger man could not suppress a groan.

"Having to watch you…nearly every day…walk in and out of this office. Never giving me so much as a second glance…at least physically." He smiled. He was very intuitive and had picked up on Pickles' crush.

Pickles wasn't getting the underlying message and he felt he had to quickly redeem his behavior.

"No way, I-…ohhh dat feels good…mmm…um…oh, Ah've always…liked…"

Ofdensen nodded.

"Yes, Pickles, I know. Your attraction to me has not gone unnoticed because of ignorance; it just isn't wise for me to encourage it. In _any_ way…"

There was almost a sarcastic tone to his voice, as he ran his hands around to Pickles' chest, stroking and brushing his nipples softly. He very _obviously_ was encouraging it. The bastard.

Pickles' eyes went wide as he felt the manager press himself up against the back of him, his hands roaming. He shuddered again, unable to contain himself, and moaned once more.

"Ch-…Charles…"

"Aw, come on…" Ofdensen teased, moving his lips to the drummer's ear, "What happened to my affectionate nickname?"

"Heh, sarry, Charlie…"

Pickles used to call him Charlie back when the band first started. They'd been rather close, though Ofdensen had felt naïve then and had never approved of the drummer's lifestyle; women, sex, booze, drugs…

Now, Pickles' reputation with women was miniscule compared to the other guys', particularly Skwisgaar and Nathan. That part of his life had started to fade, apparently. Or perhaps he really was becoming attracted to men and unable to deal with it.

Regardless, Charles had no moral objections to taking advantage of Pickles' feelings towards him. He was pleasantly surprised at how submissive Pickles was being and how little he had to force; the power was intoxicating.

"Now…let me reiterate…" He flicked his tongue sensually out to caress the drummer's ear. "I want you to stay _here_ for treatment…"

He smiled quite mischievously, knowing full well that he would get what he wanted in the end. Sending Pickles to rehab would take a lot of work, especially to quiet and pay off the media. It would be tremendously easier on the manager if he stayed. He was convinced that this was merely a stunt he would pull to get his way.

But Pickles was obviously taking this gesture differently. He was glad that he didn't actually have to confess anything to Charles; though he couldn't believe that he was in this position.

"Ch-Charlie…if…de udder guys start drinkin' around me-.."

"Don't worry about the other guys, I'll keep them in line."

His hands slid to Pickles' stomach and he caressed it lightly—he wasn't particularly ripped, probably because of drinking, but it was nice and flat, soft skin on top of hard muscle. The drummer had the kind of stomach that girls like to poke and tickle. It was "cute". Pickles was a rather small man, but this had always been endearing quality about him.

"If you trust me, I will take care of you…" Charles whispered. "You know I always do."

Pickles repressed yet another shiver and bit his bottom lip. Oh, how those words could mean so many things…and how he wished that they did. It wasn't hard to imagine, in the current position they were in. Charles' hands now moved to the drummer's rather narrow hips and rubbed slightly.

"Don't you trust me, Pickles?"

No one _should_ trust Charles Ofdensen. If they knew him well enough, which no one really did, they'd realize that his underlying motives were always selfish. But Pickles chose to see what he wanted: that the manager _cared_ for him. Foolish, really.

Pickles nodded.

"Yee-uh, I do…"

"Good," Charles purred, now trailing light kisses down the drummer's ear and neck. Pickles closed his eyes, in ecstasy. "Because I only want what's best for you."

"God…" Pickles breathed, straightening now so that he could let his body lean back into Charles a bit. He let his head fall back onto the manager's shoulder, keeping his eyes closed.

Charles effortlessly moved the drummer's dreads to reveal his neck for easier access. He smiled, leaning down to continue his kisses, though they became somewhat more. He bit the skin softly, and began sucking—hard enough to leave a mark, certainly. Pickles' light gasp thrilled him and his right hand ventured downward…

It stopped at the top of the drummer's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Pickles' moan was more than encouraging and in one, swift movement, he had his hand wrapped around the younger man's partially hard flesh.

It came to life at the contact and Ofdensen licked up to the drummer's ear again, whispering.

"Mm….you feel good."

It was almost too much for Pickles—how had this happened so quickly? Of course he didn't mind it, but he didn't think he'd be so coherent for this part. If he had ever wanted to approach Ofdensen about his feelings, it would've been in a less than sober manner. Perhaps that's why getting sober had become so important to him; he was trying to push his need for the older man away.

Pickles whimpered as Charles squeezed lightly and began stroking his cock, continuing the extra stimulation on the drummer's neck.

"O-Ohhh….Charlie….dat feels…."

"Yes? Tell me…" He went back to making another conquering mark on the younger man's shoulder.

"…s-so….ohhhhh…."

Charles removed his hand once, only to wet it with his mouth and return, quite eagerly, to the drummer's erection. It wasn't long before Pickles had thrown himself forward, hands firmly on the desk, panting and pleading.

Ofdensen liked having hi m in this position. He could easily watch the affect he was having on the younger man and enjoy the benefit of his authority. Pickles' gasping became higher pitched as he neared his climax, his entire body shaking in want. No, in _need_.

But instead of increasing his speed, Ofdensen slowed and Pickles' mouth popped open, making an interrogative noise.

"You have to promise me…if you want me to finish," he said slyly, his other hand running up the drummer's back to rest on the back of his neck, in a very dominant position. He kept the drummer forward and bent down.

Pickles didn't really notice the extremely subservient pose he was forced to hold. He just wanted to cum. Oh _GOD_, he wanted to cum.

"Wh-…I-…" he sputtered, whimpering slightly, "p-pramise _what_?"

Ofdensen gave him a good squeeze, smiling to himself, raising an eyebrow.

"That you'll be treated here. That you'll allow me to transform a part of the medical wing."

He was feeling quite cocky, especially now. Pickles seemed to acquiesce to any command and he would utilize this to his benefit.

Pickles thought for a second, but then nodded fervently. He didn't want to leave Charles, anyway…not now that _this_ had happened.

"O-Okee…I won't leave, Ah'll stay…" he furrowed his brow, closing his eyes tightly, "_Please_..."

Charles smiled and sped up his hand, stroking faster and putting pressure in all the right places, keeping his other hand at Pickles' neck. He could almost get off on this feeling of having the drummer completely obedient.

"O-Oh!"

Pickles writhed again, grateful as the building in his stomach spread warmth throughout his entire body and he came into the manager's hand. He collapsed forward, onto the desk, putting his cheek to the cold wood.

Charles smiled, taking in the sight of the drummer bent completely over his desk. It was tempting…but perhaps another day…

He retrieved a tissue to clean off his hand and helped Pickles stand, turning him around.

"I'll have the hospital ready for you on Friday."

Amazing how he could go back to being his manager so quickly. Pickles' eyes were heavy and he looked quite sexy after having gotten off. He held onto Charles a bit, to keep from wavering, as he came back to Earth. He smiled, a bit goofily.

"Okee."

He looked down at Charles' pants—nope. No erection. What the fuck?

Pickles was too high from the hand job to be too deeply disturbed about the manager's lack of arousal. Without thinking, he leaned up and kissed Ofdensen on the mouth softly.

Charles didn't kiss back, but he certainly didn't pull away. What he did do was clear his throat.

"Pickles?"

"Yee-uh?" He raised his eyebrows, pulling back.

"You have band rehearsal in five minutes."

Pickles smiled lazily and looked at the clock.

"Oh, yee-uh, I guess I do. Okee…"

He made his way to the door, turning back as he opened it.

"See ya…soon?"

A normal person would have felt a slight pang of guilt at the hope in the drummer's voice. But Charles simply smiled and nodded.

"Yes."

After Pickles left, the manager sat down in his cushy, leather chair and put his feet up on the desk, leaning back. He stared at the place where Pickles' hands had been, on the edge of the desk.

What he'd done was completely unethical. Had there been any proof against him, Pickles could have sued and had his job. But there wasn't and Ofdensen was sure of that. His office seemed to be the only place that _didn't_ have any security cameras, and, not for the first time, he was glad of that.

At least now Pickles wasn't leaving for rehab. Mission accomplished.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Toki was much braver in the dark.

He was straddling Skwisgaar on the bed in their room. Yes, _their_ room; Toki's bedroom had become mostly vacant, only utilized for dressing and building model planes these days. Since the Swede's room was bigger, with a much bigger bed, and didn't have creepy pictures of Toki's parents hanging on the walls, they'd chosen this one.

Toki pulled back from the heated kiss, smiling. Skwisgaar groaned slightly and tried to follow him—but the restraints were solid. Damn, Toki was getting good at knots.

The Norwegian shifted his hips, looking down hungrily at the naked blonde that lay stretched out underneath him. He was naked, too, and he made sure that Skwisgaar felt their cocks brush together lightly—but other than that, he was ignoring everything below the waist.

"Nnng….T-Toki, please…justs touch mes…" the lead guitarist pleaded. He was _throbbing_, this had been going on for way too long. The ropes that were tied to the headboard behind him burned his wrists if he squirmed too much.

The younger man only grinned wider, his voice soft.

"/n/ No, Skwisgaar…you have to _earn _it. /n/"

This made the Swede moan loudly, in a very needy way. He loved and hated this type of torture; but Toki was teaching him restraint and had told him that it would be worth it. He just had to remember that much.

"/s/ What do you want me to do, love? I'll do anything…/s/"

Toki giggled, tossing his long hair behind him and leaning down to put his lips very close to Skwisgaar's.

"/n/ I want you.../n/" His face grew quite serious. "/n/ …to let me in./n/"

The blonde's expression grew grave. He immediately lost the playfulness and pleading to his voice.

"Nos, Toki," He felt it best to break the intimacy of their Scandinavian speak. "Yous is nots goings to fucks me. I _tolds_ you."

Toki pouted slightly and sat back up.

"Whys not?! I lets you fucks me alls da time!"

Skwisgaar shook his head.

"Dats is different. Yous is de bottom, yous likes it. Yous likes having someone into-sides of you…"

"Nos," Toki corrected, "I likes havings _you_ insides of me."

His older lover sighed and Toki grew more frustrated, wishing he could explain.

"Don'ts yous trust me, Skwisgaar?"

Dark blue eyes met Toki's pale ones and there was clear hurt on Skwisgaar's face. Of _course_ he trusted Toki; he trusted him enough with his heart, didn't he? But this…it was too painful. For reasons that the Norwegian couldn't, and _wouldn't_, understand.

"Unties me," the Swede instructed angrily.

"Nej."

Toki furrowed his brow, refusing to move. It was useless for the blonde to struggle; it only served to burn his wrists more.

"Lets me go! Yous nots fuckinks me!"

"Just tells me why, Skwisgaar!" Toki pleaded. He sounded much like a child being refused a lollipop before dinner.

The older man simply shook his head and kept it turned to one side after; he couldn't look at Toki right now…He looked so expectant, so wanting. And he could never give Toki what he wanted. His past kept him from opening his body in _that_ way to anyone.

"I just can'ts. Its will hurt," he said pathetically, knowing this to be a poor excuse. Toki'd endured enormous pain during their first few times.

Toki crossed his arms huffily for a moment, before his stance relaxed. He leaned down and stroked Skwisgaar's face with one, calloused hand. He didn't understand, but he could feel the presence of an underlying, ominous reason behind his refusal.

"/n/ It's okay…I'm not going to force you. I just want to know why you don't want me inside of you…/n/"

Skwisgaar responded a bit better to this less juvenile behavior. He turned his face back to look at his lover's, his expression pained.

"/s/ I-…I've felt it before, okay? I don't want it again. /s/"

Toki looked confused.

_Felt it before…? But he told me he'd never…_

"/n/ I thought you'd never been with a guy before me? /n/"

The Swede sighed. It seemed that he'd have to spell it out for Toki, quite plainly.

"/s/ Well, I lied. But…it wasn't exactly my choice. He'd been a friend of my mom's…/s/"

Toki was finally catching on. His jaw dropped in a look of sheer horror and Skwisgaar had to look away again. He really had _never _wanted to get into this. Ever. Especially not with Toki. It was something he'd once punched Twinkletits for trying to coax out of him.

"/n/ Skwis, I…didn't know. I'm sorry. You were…raped?/n/"

Skwisgaar scowled at the word; it sounded so defenseless, so weak, so…not metal.

"/s/ Yeah, I guess. It was when I was twelve. Just…can we not talk about this anymore? /s/"

His wrists killed, his now wilting cock was painful and he didn't like the way Toki was staring at him in horror. He kept his gaze at the window.

Toki simply nodded. He didn't want to make Skwisgaar angry, or bring up bad memories; he knew how much he hated that himself. Mercifully, he reached down and began stroking the Swede's cock, bringing it back to life.

Skwisgaar was grateful. He let his head fall back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. He just wanted to fuck it all away and cloud his brain with pleasure. That usually solved all of his problems…or at least kept them subsided.

"/s/ Toki…mmm…just let me inside of you…but take control. It's okay to take control…/s/"

He wanted to be _fucked_; but not be the receiver. Toki thought he had a pretty good idea of what the blonde meant and he nodded again, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. He would give up, for now, but the issue wouldn't leave his mind. He _cared_ about Skwisgaar; enough to want him in every way. Even if it meant helping him into new territory to overcome his fear of vulnerability.

The younger man began to get back into the swing of things, his own erection hardening and his body flushing with anticipation. He reached up, running his free hand down the length of Skwisgaar's restrained arms and then his chest, keeping the other busy on his cock. He absolutely adored the Swede's body—his lean, sinewy muscles and pale skin that so easily displayed the "love-bites" that Toki enjoyed leaving behind.

He leaned to the right, reaching over to the metal nightstand next to the bed. Opening the top drawer, he pulled out a familiar bottle.

"/s/ Hurry…/s/" Skwisgaar pleaded, arching his back a little, trying hard to restrain his orgasm—though it was becoming difficult with Toki's fervent stroking.

The younger man fumbled with the lube, furrowing his brow.

"/n/ Um…okay, hold on. /n/"

He ceased his groping and used both hands as he near-emptied the silky liquid onto his palms, as well as Skwisgaar's cock. He tossed the bottle aside and began slicking the Swede's rock hard flesh.

"/s/ Ohhhh-!/s/" The blonde's breath hitched in his throat. "/s/ Just do it already! Please! I need you…/s/"

Toki smiled. Being told he was needed never got old. He could listen to it all day, if it was coming from Skwisgaar.

"/n/ Okay, now stay still—I'm fucking _you_, remember? /n/"

He positioned himself, sitting forward a bit, before reaching down to place the Swede's cock at his entrance. He lowered himself, allowing Skwisgaar in, and moaned loudly. He moved both of his hands to the older man's chest; keeping him down, wanting to be in control, but also steadying himself.

Skwisgaar groaned, roughly, feeling his sensitive flesh surrounded by Toki's velvety innards. His first instinct was to buck his hips, which pushed himself further into the little Norwegian, who gasped.

"/n/ S-…Skwisgaar! …I-I'm fucking _you_, stop! Ohhh…/n/"

The Swede smiled, looking up at Toki with adoration. If this was how he could give himself to the younger man, then he would allow it.

"/s/ Then _fuck_ me…/s/" he growled.

Toki tossed his hair to one side and began moving, riding the lead guitarist rhythmically. He was used to Skwisgaar's hands on his hips, and rather missed that, but he wanted to keep the man tied down. He felt more in control that way, and he was trying to establish his role as more of a sexual equal.

It was only a matter of time until Skwisgaar could barely contain himself; he'd been struggling against the ropes for so long that his wrists were beginning to bleed. In the back of his mind, the voice that always thought about guitar kept him worrying about the status of his hands. He couldn't arrive at practice with fucked up fingers because he wanted to give his boyfriend a sense of power in their relationship. Besides, Toki was beginning to whimper, whining in the same fashion he did when he begged to be dominated. It was driving Skwisgaar crazy.

"/s/ Pleeease….untie me…/s/" the Swede groaned.

Toki's head was hanging, his hair draped over his face, his arms beginning to shake a bit from holding up his body for so long.

"/n/ Nooo…/n/" He didn't want to lose his leading position…but he was beginning to ache for their usual arrangement. He hadn't realized how fond he'd grown of being able to pull Skwisgaar close, feel his soft, pale hair on him and wrap his legs tightly around his lover's body.

"/s/ Untie me, kitten, please…you've fucked me, now I want to fuck you. /s/"

Toki huffed for a moment before finally acquiescing; he usually succumbed to anything if there was an affectionate pet name involved. He reached up, easily untying the complicated knots and freeing the lead's hands. Skwisgaar touched his bruised wrists lightly.

"/s/ O-Ow….damn, Toki…/s/"

Toki frowned, moving to lay on his back beside the older man.

"/n/ You told me to make them impossible to get out of! Come oooon, fuck me, hurry up! /n/"

Skwisgaar had never disobeyed a command like that.

He quickly sped into high gear, flipping over so that he was on top of the Norwegian. He opened the younger man's legs, lifting them up to his sides and revealing his still wet opening. Not wasting any time, and slightly frustrated that he hadn't cum yet, he thrust into Toki, falling forward into an embrace.

Toki secured his legs around Skwisgaar's lower back, his body moving in time with the older man's thrusts.

"Ohhh….J-Jeg elsker deg," he sang, his head falling back.

Only after a few minutes of deep, heavy thrusting did Skwisgaar welcome the warm clenching of his stomach muscles. He released himself into Toki with one last string of incoherent Swedish and Toki arrived not long after, clawing at the blonde's smooth back.

They collapsed onto and into each other, murmuring their usual gibberish of promises and stroking each other's faces. After this moment of pure bliss, Skwisgaar pulled out of Toki and lay beside him. He opened his arms, allowing the younger man to snuggle onto his chest, and pulled the fur comforter around them.

"Dats…was goods, ja?" Skwisgaar asked, still slightly out of breath.

"Ja," Toki answered, his breathing normal; with the shape his body was in, it was near impossible for him to lose his stamina.

Somewhere in Skwisgaar's consciousness, he was aware of the fact that Toki was unhappy about something. The fact that it had recently surfaced—and the fact that it was about dicking him—was unsettling. He needed reassurance, something that told him that Toki was still happy with their arrangement.

"T…Toki? Um…I's nots go outs tomorrows, okay?"

Toki furrowed his brow, tracing circles on the older man's chest.

"Whats you mean? Were you goings to goes out?"

Skwisgaar sighed. He knew that they had a really long rehearsal planned for the next day on stage, and that the little Norwegian would most likely be tired afterwards, or in a bad mood from Skwisgaar's nitpicking. He'd planned to rush to a club and get some fucking out before coming back before Toki went to bed.

But now he wondered if it was worth the possible strain it could put on them. He was suddenly very aware of how annoying it must be that he's allowed to fuck whoever he wants.

"Well…ja, maybes. I's wasn'ts sures, but…I may be t'inkings I stays here wid you."

Toki smiled softly, not really understanding the real motives behind this generous decision; but he'd take it, of course.

"Okays." He sounded very content.

Skwisgaar nodded and hugged the younger man to him possessively, before closing his eyes.

"Mmm….god natt, Toki."

"God natt, Skwis."


	3. Chapter 3

Nathan had grown accustomed to Toki and Skwisgaar's constant companionship. Wherever the lead guitarist was, the rhythm tended to be; even when they were writing in the recording room, and that was annoying as hell, considering he didn't help in the process. Nevertheless, the singer had just recently discontinued his constant complaining about the flaunting of their relationship.

But that didn't mean that he liked it.

And now he sat, in the hot tub, while the two Scandinavians once again claimed the couch. Nathan was trying to focus on the TV, but the guitarists were speaking to each other in soft gibberish and it angered him to feel so left out; though he'd never admit that as a real reason for his annoyance.

"Hey, knock that shit off! This is America, we speak…ya know…American."

He turned around to glare at them. Skwisgaar was, surprisingly, not in possession of his Gibson Explorer. He was sprawled out, sitting beside Toki, who had the Swede's right arm in his lap. He was tracing soft lines across one of the blonde's damaged wrists. Skwisgaar had been uncharacteristically wearing a long-sleeved shirt all day, and now Nathan saw why.

"Holy fuck man! What happened to your arm?!" The singer widened his eyes.

Skwisgaar frowned. His wrists _were_ quite swollen. There were red, scabbed marks where the ropes had been and bruises where he'd struggled the most.

"Nothins. Minds your owns business, ah?"

He didn't seem to be in the greatest mood. Their practice hadn't gone over so well; Toki'd been pretty unfocused, much to Skwisgaar's frustration, and the rehearsal had gone on for hours. Then, at the end, they had to sit through a rather boring lecture by Charles on safety for the upcoming concert. They were all just glad that the show was so close to home, on their island.

Toki seemed to be trying hard to make up for his earlier behavior; but Skwisgaar was getting a bit _more_ frustrated, if anything. The way Toki was touching his arm lightly was turning him on…and he had promised not to go out.

Nathan scowled.

"It's _my_ business if it affects your fucking guitar playing."

"It didn'ts affects it todays, dids it?!"

"Skwisgaar…" Toki pleaded softly, furrowing his brow. He didn't want there to be a fight. It was _his_ fault the lead's wrists were fucked up, anyway.

The Swede fell silent and Nathan grunted, turning back to the TV. Toki often acted as such a medium between the two men; conflicts seemed to arise often and his voice usually settled them.

Skwisgaar looked over at the Norwegian, who was staring absentmindedly at his busy hand.

"/s/ You're turning me on…/s/"

Toki looked at Nathan first, widening his eyes, only to remember that they couldn't be understood. He turned to his lover.

"/n/ Turning you on? But you're hurt! I'm just trying to soothe it. /n/"

Skwisgaar smiled wickedly.

"/s/ I know…and I like it. /s/"

Truthfully, Toki was exhausted. But he smiled, not wanting Skwisgaar to change his mind about staying home for the evening. He pressed down on one of the raw parts on the blonde's wrist, causing him to yelp.

"Tryin' to watch TV!" Nathan bellowed, this time not bothering to turn around.

"/n/ You like _that_? You like pain? /n/"

Skwisgaar practically growled. He turned his body towards Toki, ready to pounce.

"/s/ Don't fuck up my hands anymore than they already are…but yeah…it's hot when you get aggressive.../s/"

Toki feigned a hissing cat, playfully clawing at Skwisgaar's chest. They both chuckled and Pickles strolled in, rolling his eyes.

"Ah-right, you two, stap makin' Nate'n sick."

He stripped off his pants and stepped into the hot tub across from the singer, noting the disgruntled look on his face.

"Pfft," Skwisgaar began dismissively, facing forward again as Toki was content to continue stroking his wrist, "If Nathans gets sick, maybe he leaves us alones about speakinks whats we want."

Toki always beamed when Skwisgaar defended them in front of the other guys. Pickles laughed lightheartedly. He seemed to be in a great mood, and he'd been an absolute _machine_ at rehearsal.

"Yee-uh, well, as far as Ah'm concerned, ya can speak whatever ya want—'cause I don't _wanna_ hear what yer sayin'. Sick."

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes.

"Yous just jealous."

That was his automatic response to anyone who hinted that they were uncomfortable with he and Toki's relationship. It used to be that they were "repressed", but now it was "jealous". That always seemed to make Nathan, especially, uncomfortable, though he was unsure as to why.

Pickles shook his head, still smiling. Nathan splashed the drummer playfully to get his attention—he, too, was grinning. Ever since he'd learned that he wasn't losing Pickles to a rehab center for several months, he'd been much easier to get along with.

"Hey, are we gonna write tonight?"

Pickles nodded.

"Yee-uh, I think so. I gotta go see when Ahfdensen wants me ta tahk to the doctors about…ya know, treatment and shit. Ah'm pretty sure it's tomorrow, but…no rush." He shrugged, still pretty uncomfortable talking about it in the open.

Nathan nodded once.

"Good."

Normally, Skwisgaar would've spoken up and complained about not being invited to write with them; but he figured he'd stay with Toki and hopefully coax a hand job out of him, at the very least. _God_, he was horny.

Eventually Murderface wandered in and joined the two in the hot tub, mumbling about some crazy dream he'd just had, after waking up from a nap—a nap that was the result of excessive tequila consumption. He was still a bit slurry. Pickles tried to pretend that he wasn't jealous; he was definitely going to miss getting fucked up, especially with the guys. Particularly Nathan and Murderface; they'd had some great times drinking.

He raised an eyebrow as William threw his arm awkwardly around Nathan, breaking into a song about "takin' a good ol' shchit". It dawned on him how little time he had left before he was admitted. He was to meet with Ofdensen tomorrow and his treatment, most likely, would begin soon after.

One more binge couldn't hurt, could it?

After a few more moments of just gritting his teeth and baring the physical assault, Nathan roared.

"MURDERFACE GET OFF ME! JUST GO BACK TO BED!"

William snarled.

"You-…don't tell ME when to go to bed, YOU…juscht SCHUT up, you fuckin'…" He slapped the water with a small splash. "Juscht leave me alone, I tell you WHAT!"

Pickles chuckled.

"Dood, c'man…yer still drunk! Go ta bed."

"Ja," Skwisgaar piped, now laying his head on Toki's lap as the Norwegian braided his hair (not to the Swede's knowledge, of course), "yours voice is hurtinks mine ear, ah?"

Murderface snorted, turning to the blonde.

"At leascht I'm not…fuckin'…Pippy LONGschtocking!"

Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow.

"Who do yous mean?"

Toki giggled behind him and Pickles raised his eyebrows, surprised that the younger man got the reference. Skwisgaar just rolled his eyes, then closed them, annoyed.

"Pfft, yous ams fuckeds up. I's nots even wearinks socks."

Nathan snickered.

"Uh…_yeah_, Skwisgaar. Sure. Nice hair by the way."

Toki widened his eyes, crossing his arms haughtily as he pulled them from the pale locks, mid-braid.

"Nathans! Don'ts tells him!"

"Tells me what?" Skwisgaar asked, reaching back to feel his hair. His eyes shot open and he jumped up, his hair divided into four, neatly finished braids, the last one incomplete and dangling.

"TOKI!! I'M GOINKS TO _KILLS_ YOU, /s/ WHY THE HELL DID YOU BRAID MY HAIR, YOU LITTLE JERK?! /s/"

Toki mimicked Skwisgaar's actions by hopping up as well, but took a defensive position. But he couldn't erase the smile from his face and he hardly suppressed a giggle.

"I's sorry! Don'ts hurts me!" He shrieked as the Swede lunged at him and they took off running, down the hallway that led to their bedroom.

The other boys sat in silence momentarily before breaking out into a fit of laughter.

"Dats classic," Pickles muttered, wiping a happy tear from his eye.

Murderface rose, to no one's appeal, revealing his less than shapely lower features. Thankfully, he thought to grab a towel before bidding the two an eloquent goodnight.

"Well, I guessch I'ma…go, uh…get drunk and fuck myschelf up schome more…ugghh…the room…schpinnin'…"

He stumbled toward the corridor to his room, which was down the hall from Pickles'.

"Finally," Nathan grumbled. He was more happy that the fucking happy couple was gone than anyone else. He easily sulked back into his earlier displayed slump, but his eyes didn't go back to the TV. They focused, instead, on the couch where Skwisgaar and Toki had been.

"Dood," Pickles began, "we should…ya know, take one last joy ride." He raised his eyebrows, keeping his voice low, as if he'd get in trouble.

Nathan furrowed his brow, breaking out of his gaze to look at the drummer.

"What?"

"Git fucked up…ya know…it's kinda my last night. After this, I, uh…ya know. Can't. Anymore…"

The singer nodded in a very grave way. This was true, and sad indeed. It would have to be a special, memorable night…

…or not.

"Yeah, let's fuckin' get wasted, man."

Pickles smiled. He enjoyed good old quality Nathan time, in which they could both say whatever the hell they wanted and indulge in the lesser of meaningful discussions. They would sometimes breach philosophy, but it was only profound at the time, and most certainly only to them; other than that, it was usually just topics that circled around sex and music. There was the random occasion where, after several bottles or joints, they would talk about Skwisgaar and Toki. And how fucked up the whole situation was.

But Nathan seemed to dwell on it, Pickles specifically remembered that; the singer had been quite disturbed by the two Scandinavians' closeness, so he tried to avoid the subject when possible. He wasn't sure why it was so hard to handle—as far as Pickles was concerned, it had nothing to do with him. And as a common rule, if it didn't directly affect him…it didn't matter.

He'd thought that to be Dethklok's motto…but Nathan seemed to care more than he let on.

And yet Pickles never brought this to the singer's attention. After all, if someone were to notice his obsession with Charles, he'd want them to ignore it and _never_ bring it up. So he returned the possible favor.

And so they retreated, after drying off and dressing, to Nathan's grandiose room that much resembled the architecture of the ancient Romans. It had high arches and a luxurious, canopy bed. While one would expect it to be painted in extravagant golds and reds due to its resemblance, it was instead highly gothic, coated in textured, black tones, with silver lining.

Nathan's bed always seemed out of place to the drummer; with the black, sheer canopy and luxurious ebony comforter, it seemed built for aesthetic pleasure more than use. Maybe he had it because women _liked_ to feel like they were in Dracula's castle. Who knew? It was known that Nathan rarely slept anyway.

They chose the floor by one of the high, dungeon-like windows, pulling bottles of Stoli, Absolut, Jack Daniels and Crown Royale from one of the singer's closets. Pickles pulled out a bag of weed he'd kept in his left pants pocket for just this sort of occasion. They easily found rolling papers and decided to start with weed.

As they passed the joint, they were initially silent. But as the lines between sobriety and highness were blurred, the conversations began.

"Dood…I can't…imagine _nat_ doin' this anymore…" Pickles always took on a very mystical tone to his voice when he was high. His usually harsher-pitched voice was smoother and lower.

Nathan nodded slowly, leaning back on his palms as he looked out at the moon.

"Yeah…you'll be, like…a different guy. Why are you doing it, anyway?"

Nathan knew that he was stepping over the boundaries of the band's ultimatum of apathy; it shouldn't matter. But he truly was curious. His usually cold, blue eyes were softer—fixated, but swimming and relaxed.

Pickles shrugged, running his eyes down the singer's hair with interest, noticing the silky texture.

"Hm…I dunno, I guess…heh…I jes'…ya know, um…"

He could've chalked his lack of concentration up to the grass; but really, he was close to spilling the truth. He'd known that it was a complete possibility tonight. He supposed that's why he'd been relieved to see Murderface go. He knew that _if_ he revealed his feelings for the manager, Nathan would be the easiest to tell.

"What?" Nathan asked, now blinking at Pickles, who met his gaze.

"Uh…" Pickles stammered and chose the ground as a visual distraction instead. "I don't…like who I am when Ah'm drunk, ya know? I mean…what I do. Who I…pay attention to."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

Nathan never liked discussions that danced around subjects; he never felt on being that fucking intuitive, or sleuthing.

Pickles sighed. He was going to need alcohol for this.

"I dunno, let's just…do some shots."

Nathan nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

They down the whole bottle of Absolut Raspberry and began in on the Stoli when Pickles felt comfortable, and drunk enough, to breach the subject once again.

"I jess…ya know, Ah'm like…fuck, dood! Okay, here it is, I think Ah'm…attracted to Ahfdensssen!" He hiccupped.

Nathan clapped him on the back, his eyes wide. They were sitting right next to each other all of the sudden. How had _that_ happened…?

"Oh sssHIT, man, no way…that'sss…jussst….fffuck YOU, dude, sseriousssly?"

Pickles nodded fervently and then burst into laughter.

"I KNOW, right?! Whadda fuck?! And de udder day…he gave me a fffuckin'…fuckin' HAND jab, dood!"

Nathan coughed as he was downing another shot. The vodka spilled down the front of his shirt and he pointed it out to the drummer.

"Look."

"Yee-uh, dood, I know, I know…"

"Anyway, you…wait- WHAT?!"

Pickles' words had come slowly to him and his intoxicated brain was processing the redhead's confession.

"Oh God," Nathan looked down at the floor, as if stricken with fear, "you're…gay."

Pickles widened his eyes, his instincts kicking in.

"NO WEEEE, dood! No wee. Ah'm nat…noo, PFFT, no Ah'm not!"

Nathan laughed and fell back onto the floor, reaching up to grab a handful of the drummer's shirt and pull him back with him. They lay side by side, their heads millimeters apart. As the laughing died down, the singer's voice took on a more serious tone, though still heavily slurred.

"…yeah, when you…like a guy…you're gay. I-…I think that'sss….how it isss."

Pickles shook his head slowly, but stopped immediately, realizing that the room was already moving enough above him.

"Wudda 'bout Ssskwisssgaar? He'ss gotta boyfriend, but…he fuckss ladies ssstill."

Nathan nodded very slowly, as if Pickles had just revealed to him the truth to their existence. His eyes widened slightly and he turned to look at the drummer, who swore he could see gratefulness in the singer's eyes.

"You're _right_…o-..oh my _God_…having a…liking a _guy_…doessn't alwaysss…mean that you…have to be _gay_…"

"Yee-uh, dood," Pickles answered. He began stroking the lush, blood red hearth rug that they were laying on. It was a nice change to the cold tile or stone that he usually found himself lying on at two in the morning.

Nathan sighed heavily, staring at the ceiling now.

"That'ss…a fuckin'…relief."

Pickles turned to him, cautious to be slow, and raised an eyebrow.

"Whaddo ya mean?"

There was a soft knock at the door and both men jolted slightly. Who would have the balls to bother them at this hour? Maybe Skwisgaar wanted to go out after all. Or maybe Charles knew what they were doing and had come to reprimand Pickles…

…_shit!_

"Dood, answer it!" Pickles yelped as he ran, stumbling, to the bed. He jumped into the comforter, covering himself completely. He was quite paranoid.

"What?!" Nathan sat up and decided to take the easier road.

"WHO IS IT?!" He bellowed.

After a few seconds, there was a soft answer.

"It's Toki…ams yous awake?"

Nathan widened his eyes. Toki was the _last_ person he'd expected…

…but he wasn't upset at the intrusion.

He felt slightly sobered by surprise and stood, going to the door. He opened it, wavering a bit, leaning against the frame to steady himself.

Toki sheepishly rocked on his heels, clutching Deddy Bear mercilessly to his chest. He braved a timid smile at the older man and hunched his shoulders pitifully.

"I, uh…Skwisgaar wents out."

He'd given the blonde permission. His body was just too tired and Skwisgaar kept pushing and whining; he hadn't been satisfied with a lazy hand job. They'd had a bit of a tiff until Toki finally gave in, practically ordering the Swede to go and get it out of his system. He said he'd forgive him if he didn't come back tonight.

But he needed a distraction to keep his promise words true. And Nathan was always his second choice of company, even if he was only secretly nice to the Norwegian.

Nathan immediately turned to look at his bed, where there was a distinct lump among the covers. He snapped harshly.

"Pickles…get the fuck outta here," he ordered.

Pickles awkwardly revealed his face, looking upward at Toki, whose eyes widened significantly.

"Okee."

His feelings weren't really hurt—he was too drunk and too embarrassed. He knew how coming out from Nathan's bed must've looked, and so he ignored Toki's gaze as he stumbled out of the room.

Toki bit his lip.

"Uhh….sorrys to…interrupts, um…whats was Pickle doin' ins here?" He blinked.

Nathan grabbed the front of the younger man's shirt, pulling him into the room and shutting the door. He sighed and sat on the bed, trying hard to straighten his mind and sober up more.

"We were, uh…getting drunk and…I dunno, you…ssscared him or…somethin'."

_Come on, brain, FOCUS!_ He thought furiously. He couldn't seem to will his vision to stabilize.

"Oh…" Toki sat beside him, still holding his bear in a death grip.

Nathan's eyes shot open as he finally realized the underlying message that the sight had sent the Norwegian.

"Oh GOD!" He cried, turning to the guitarist, as if caught shoplifting by a mall cop, "We weren't…_doing_ anything!"

Toki actually smiled, almost giggling.

"S'okay. I knows."

Nathan relaxed and felt his face redden.

"Oh…okay."

Why the hell was his stomach in knots? And the hell why was he suddenly so aware of Toki's hair? It looked so soft, as he tilted his head down to look at his bear and his locks fell around his gentle face…

…_Pickles said it was okay to fucking like a guy. It doesn't make you gay._

This affirmation, though a drunken one, had made him feel a little better about his bitterness towards Skwisgaar, which he was beginning to recognize, somewhat slowly. He wasn't sure _why_ he liked being around Toki, or felt unnecessarily protective of him, but he knew that it was indeed true.

"Yous ams drunk, Nathans. Maybes we just goes to bed. You shoulds rest."

He pushed Nathan gently back onto the bed and maneuvered him, quite easily the singer noticed, onto a side of the enormous king-sized mattress. He got up, once, to flip off the lights and returned, lying beside him.

Toki was mostly silent, despite a few sighs and Nathan could feel himself drifting…

"Toki?" He managed to grunt just before passing out.

"Ja?"

"…you…look so pretty…all the time…"

And he was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pickles hadn't been about to go to bed. And after Nathan kicked him out, he knew _exactly _where he was heading.

And it was to Charles' surprise when he opened the door to his attached loft apartment and found a staggering, slurring, completely wasted redhead in his wake.

"Charlie…dis was _definitely_…my LAST time…gettin' drunk. Definitely." He swayed, putting his hand to the doorframe.

The manager smiled, raising one eyebrow nefariously, and pulled the drummer in, shutting the door.

He locked it and turned to the face the younger man, who was now glancing around aimlessly, admiring Ofdensen's expensive decorum. _Damn_, this guy was classy.

"You gat…a LAT….'a stuff here, dood…"

"Pickles," Charles began, walking to him slowly, still in his suit. He'd actually been working. "You're…_very_ inebriated, yes?"

The drummer nodded.

"Yep."

The older man's smile turned just plain evil as he steadied Pickles, placing his hands on his hips.

"Good."

He leaned in, kissing the drummer purposefully on the lips, tasting the burn and sting of raspberry vodka. Pickles received the kiss amicably, throwing his arms up and around the manager's neck in a very lazy manner—his motor skills were obviously waning.

Ofdensen wasted no time, leading the drummer back into the nearest hallway, toward his bedroom. He began running through possible scenarios in his head; things that he could get away with so that Pickles wouldn't wake up freaked, or feeling too violated.

Actual intercourse was out of the question. Charles was _not_ going to volunteer as the submissive, and he was pretty sure that Pickles was a homosexual virgin; it wasn't a moral battle for the manager, as he had no problem stealing this innocence from the man. It was more so a job risk and he wouldn't want the drummer to fire him over something he hadn't been ready for.

But Pickles was drunk…very drunk. And he tended to live by the rule that "it doesn't count when you're drunk or high", and Charles was grateful for that. At least for now.

Pickles followed Charles eagerly as their kissing grew more heated; at least for him, it grew needier. The older man never seemed to allow himself to reach that desperate of a state. He was always in control of himself, completely, even in times of passion.

Pickles was drifting in and out for a while, very caught up in the feel and taste of the manager's smooth and pressing tongue in his mouth; but after a little while, he found himself completely naked on Charles' bed. The older man still retained his pants and undershirt. That wasn't fair.

"Hey…yer still dressed kinda…" His protest was betrayed by the small smile that he couldn't get rid of.

Ofdensen simply smirked.

"Yes. I am."

"Oh…okee."

Pickles was too far gone to really care, let alone work his fingers well enough to strip the other man properly, so he simply let it be. Whatever Charles wanted was fine, as long as they could keep kissing and touching…

It wasn't long before Ofdensen was kissing down his body, his hands roaming and groping. He found his way in between the younger man's legs, easily spreading them. Pickles arched his back, his hands gripping the manager's hair as he left bite marks on the drummer's stomach.

"Uhhnn….Charlie…" the redhead breathed, "w-…Ah've always…wanted dis…"

Charles smiled as he licked down a well-defined hip bone.

"Mmhmm," he confirmed, "I know."

Pickles smiled, his eyes closed as he focused on the sensations on his very sensitive skin.

"What're ya gonna do?"

The manager almost scoffed.

"What would you…like me to do, Pickles?"

The younger man licked his lips and let out a quick, terse breath as Charles passed his now hard cock purposefully and traced his tongue alone the dummer's tense thighs.

"W-…" He could hardly think, let alone form cogent sentences. "W-Whatever ya want…"

"That's a bold suggestion…You know, full well, that I am able to completely take advantage of you right now…"

His words were teasing; he didn't really feel culpable at all. If it was consensual, drunk or not, it was free game.

"Psh, shit, I don't care whatcha do ta me…Ah'd let ya do _anything _ta me…"

Charles smirked. He could've taken that claim to its full potential, but chose differently.

"Very well…"

He leaned his head down, swiping his tongue in one, long movement up Pickles' erection, grabbing it by the base. He watched the younger man's reaction carefully, wanting to see the affect. Pickles threw his head back and groaned loudly.

"Y-Yesss…" he breathed, "Please…"

Ofdensen flicked his tongue across the head before taking it in his mouth, near deep throating on the first lunge. Pickles practically squealed.

"SHIT!!! J-…JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST! A-Ahhh….sh-shit, yer…yer good at dis…"

Charles laughed, pulling off with a distinct 'pop'.

"Yes…I know."

And he went back to work.

Having Pickles writhe and moan at every movement of his tongue was addictive. He kept the younger man's hips held down firmly, intermittently glancing up to watch the drummer's face. He looked…beautiful. In complete bliss.

The twinge of affection that Charles began to feel in his chest disturbed him.

He quickened his pace, now intent on ending the act. It didn't take long and after a few minutes, Pickles gasped.

"O-Ohhhhh…shhhiiiitt…."

He came into the manager's mouth gratefully, muttering incoherently and ending with a smile.

"Mmm…Charlie, dat was….wow…."

Pickles couldn't open his eyes. He was too drunk and too spent now. He lay, for a minute more, catching his breath and reeling in his mind. He finally forced his eyelids open and saw Charles sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor in a rather precarious manner. His hair was slightly disheveled, but he was still in that white shirt and slacks.

"…Charlie? You okay?"

Ofdensen quickly snapped out of his gaze, tossing it to Pickles.

"Yes. I'm fine. You should…get some sleep." He smiled, almost generously. "You're so drunk."

The drummer chuckled, relaxing and pulling the covers over him lazily.

"Yee-uh…ya don't mind if I…sleep here, do ya?"

The manager shook his head.

"Not at all. I'm just going to change and I'll lie down momentarily."

"Mm…" Pickles was already drifting, his head tilted to the side, his eyes closing again.

Charles watched him—long enough to hear quiet snoring and deep breathing from the younger man. Somewhat unsteadily, he rose and made his way to the living room. Sighing, he shut his laptop and grabbed a wine glass that had earlier been emptied.

Noticing that the curtains were slightly askew, he walked to the sliding door that led to the balcony to straighten them; but instead, he cast them aside and stared out at the large, wondrous island that was Mordland. He watched for a moment as the perimeter guards kept watch and in the distance, he could see the yard wolves curled against each other in a small burrow.

Beyond that, the horizon was hazy, a hint of orange setting the scene aglow. He hated this time; the space between night and dawn, when one usually denied sleep , but somehow never managed to find peace. For him, this was the time for denial.

He would deny loneliness. He would deny personal needs. He would deny that he'd ever truly cared for another human being.

What was an aching heart but a conquering distraction? He'd never sought love; it was obsolete, and overall, impractical. And as he narrowed his eyes at the distant sea, his mind once again overpowered his heart.

_No. These feelings are fleeting…they will pass_.

After tidying up a bit more, he switched off the lamp and lie on the couch, hoping to sleep away the dawn. Unfortunately for his bitter consciousness, all he could do was muster the strength to will away the urge to join the drummer in his bed. And for the first time he realized:

Pickles was dangerous to him.


	4. Chapter 4

It was nine in the morning when Skwisgaar arrived back home.

He was tired and annoyed, having had a rather frustrating night; he'd called one of the women "Toki" and had to spend an exhausting, cautious amount of time explaining that it was nothing but an honest mistake. Afterwards, he'd felt even emptier than before. The energy that usually boosted his sexual stamina had sustained, instead, his rising sense of guilt.

He'd left the last woman's apartment quite indignantly and went wandering around the streets before realizing that he missed his true lover. It was becoming harder to enjoy sex with anyone else.

And this was annoying as hell.

So when he returned to an empty room, his already sour mood worsened. Furrowing his brow at the unoccupied bed, he decided to check Toki's room; after finding it in the same state, he conjectured that it was quite possible that the Norwegian was already up. It was after eight, anyway, and any time past this was considered "sleeping in" for the younger man.

He checked, in exact order, the living room, the recording room, the kitchen, the game room, even the gardens where the wolves resided: he was nowhere to be found.

He passed the corridor that led to Murderface's and Pickles' rooms - the drummer's was empty and he knew that Toki wouldn't dare knock on William's door at night. That left only one other option, unless the rhythm guitarist had, for some unknown reason, ventured out onto the island. This made Skwisgaar more uneasy than anything else ever could. Or so he thought.

Lazily, the Swede approached Nathan's shut door and banged once with the palm of his hand.

…

No answer.

_Pfft, lazy dildo._

Skwisgaar's arrogance usually allowed him entry into anyone's rooms, at any time. If there was a girl in the bed, he would leave politely, and as he entered he smirked. Nathan was buried in his bed covers and through the sheer canopy, the blonde could see a woman beside him, curled up against him, her long, chestnut hair splayed gorgeously across the fluffy pillow.

_He's not here either _, he thought, sighing.

He turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob when he heard an unsettling noise; it was a mere half-sigh. But a familiar noise all the same.

His head snapped back to the bed as the woman was turning over, facing away from Nathan and toward Skwisgaar. His eyes widened as he recognized Toki's gentle face, asleep and peaceful.

Slowly, the Swede approached the bed, making sure that he had the scene correctly:

Toki…in Nathan's bed…curled amiably against the singer…bottles of Jack Daniels and Stoli littering the floor.

No.

_Fuck no._

Seeing red, Skwisgaar clenched his fists, speaking aloud now, through clenched teeth.

"You….fuckinks….SLUTS…."

Toki stirred and his gorgeous blue eyes fluttered open. He looked up innocently, his brow scrunched in confusion. For a moment, he'd forgotten where he was.

"…Skwisgaar…? W-…/n/ Hey, are you okay? /n/"

Nathan grunted.

"Shut _up_, Toki…"

He covered his head with the covers, his voice now muffled.

"Go back to sleep."

Skwisgaar stood, practically shaking, now fixing his furious gaze on the singer. He marched over to Nathan's side of the bed and ripped the comforter off.

"YOU FUCKINK _SLUTS!"_

Toki yelped, jumping up. His brain started to process the suggestiveness of the situation.

Nathan growled and sat up, his head pulsing.

"What the fuck?! FUCK YOU, Skwisgaar, get out of my room!"

Without warning, the Swede had Nathan by the front of his shirt. He was pulling him out of the bed and, quite impressively, threw the singer up against the wall with a loud thud.

"Whats ams you doings with TOKI ins your beds?!" he growled, still holding Nathan against the cold stone. His muscles were bulging, his eyes maniacal; he looked ready to kill.

"Skwisgaar, no!" Toki cried, "wes just…no, s'not likes dat! I was lone-"

"Shuts _up_, Toki…" Skwisgaar hissed, never taking his eyes off the singer.

Nathan brought both of his hands to the Swede's grip on his shirt, using all of his strength to attempt to pull the man off; but after such a night of drinking and smoking, he was running at fifty percent and felt rather weak.

"Errggh….get OFF me, man…" Nathan warned, "_He_ came to _me_. It's not _my_ fault that you have to go out every night because Toki's not enough for you."

Toki looked just as shocked as Skwisgaar. Nathan glanced at the Norwegian momentarily and all the blonde needed was that moment of hesitation and silence to pull back and slam his fist as hard as he could into Nathan's face.

Toki yelped.

"Skwisgaar, _NO!_"

He raced to the other side of the bed where the other two stood, but Skwisgaar would not cease his attack; he just kept punching the slightly defenseless singer over and over and over and over…

Going blind with rage, tears in his eyes and his stomach sick, Skwisgaar saw, in some part of his consciousness, that blood was splattering on his knuckles, on Nathan's face, on the wall, on the floor…but he wanted nothing more than to kill Nathan. To murder him. For touching Toki.

Toki finally mustered up the strength to grab the Swede and throw him back on the bed. Skwisgaar let out an angry shriek, struggling against the Norwegian as the younger man held him down.

"/n/ SKWISGAAR, STOP! WHAT IS _WRONG_ WITH YOU?! /n/"

Nathan collapsed, slumping to the ground in a mess of ruby and ebony, completely unconscious. Skwisgaar's face was contorted into a furious snarl and it didn't soften as he turned to look at Toki, who was staring down at him in horror…almost in the same way he had a few nights before, when he'd learned of the Swede's past.

"Gets _off_ of me…I leaves for ONE nights ands y-…you-…/s/ you fuck NATHANS?! How could you?! /s/"

Toki was sobbing and Skwisgaar just now seemed to realize. The younger man shook his head furiously, his hair whipping about.

"/n/ No, Skwis! /n/" Tears were streaming down his gentle face mercilessly now. "/n/ I was just lonely because you left me…I didn't want to be in our bed alone! Nathan was drunk when I came in here and he passed out. I just wanted someone beside me…please…nothing happened…/n/"

Toki's crying was unsettling to the blonde, in so many ways. The younger, more muscular man was still holding him down, but his grip was loosening as Skwisgaar's body and face began to relax.

"Toki…" Skwisgaar began, his voice softer, but still edgy. "Lets me up."

The Norwegian nodded and sobbed once more, standing and walking to Nathan's motionless body. Skwisgaar sat up and his eyes were wide as he surveyed the mess he'd created.

"Wes has to gets him tos da medicine's wings," Toki whispered, wiping his eyes. He looked much like a child when he did this.

Skwisgaar didn't move and Toki looked over at him expectantly. But the Swede simply stared and became lost in thought, very obviously disturbed by his slightly out-of-body experience. Sure, he'd leapt to conclusions…but what Nathan said had really gotten to him.

"_It's not my fault that you have to go out every night because Toki's not enough for you."_

Is that what Nathan really thought?

Is that what _Toki_ thought?

Toki sighed, wiping his face once more before leaning down to pull Nathan up into a half-standing position. He leaned the singer's large body against his own, attempting to hold it up.

"Comes _on_, Skwisgaar, helps me!"

Skwisgaar suddenly felt more like vomiting, but he nodded and stood to assist Toki in taking the singer to the medical wing. They had to practically drag him; but they were lucky that it was still early and none of the other guys were up to question the act.

The doctor took Nathan in without asking a word, figuring from the look of the singer's face that it had been a fight. He was busted up pretty badly and the doctor mentioned a few things about a surgery to realign his nose and jaw. Skwisgaar's mind was far away and the professional's words were fuzzy, so Toki did his best to try and remember the doc's every word.

They were shooed away after an operation time was determined and Skwisgaar trudged slowly back to their bedroom while Toki trailed behind. Without a word, the Swede plopped down on the bed, on his back, blinking at the ceiling.

Toki shut the door, his brow furrowed. He stood by it, however, and didn't approach the blonde, or even the bed.

"…Skwis…?"

Skwisgaar's face was set in a deep, thoughtful frown.

"Ja."

"…why…dids yous do dat to Nathans?"

The Swede swallowed hard before sitting up to face Toki. He looked sad now.

"I-…just goes crazy. I saws him…and I saws yous, just…it lookeds like…" He shook his head.

Toki nodded.

"Ja, I knows…"

Skwisgaar sighed, wanting to finish.

"I can'ts stands to t'inks of someones else touchinks you…"

He looked up into Toki's blue eyes, looking desperate.

Toki didn't look necessarily sympathetic; he appeared slightly scared and timid – but above all, he looked vindicated.

"Nows you know hows _I_ feel."

He turned to open the door and left swiftly. Skwisgaar heard his quick footsteps down the hall and then the shutting of his own bedroom door.

"/s/ I hate myself. /s/"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pickles jolted.

_Holy shit, this ain't my bed, this ain't my room!_

He felt his face, then his chest…then he looked down, furrowing his brow.

_I'm…naked..?_

…_.OH!!_

His mind was fuzzy, but as glanced around, he remembered: this was _Charlie's_ room. His stomach jumped a bit with excitement; he'd never thought that he'd be allowed _here_. Did he dream that blowjob?

No, that had to have been real…he remembered the amazing sensation too clearly; it seemed to stick out among the other blurry events of the night.

Nathan…drinking…Toki…apartment…

He nodded, but immediately regretted it as he cradled his head gingerly.

"Ugh…"

The bedroom door creaked open and there stood Charles – already dressed, his hair already slicked back – an almost grave expression on his face.

"You're up."

Pickles rubbed his eyes slowly, grimacing at his growling stomach and throbbing brain.

"Yee-uh…"

Charles had almost left and gone to the office; but he'd decided it best to stay behind and make sure that Pickles left at a decent hour. Also, he wasn't risking any Klokateers seeing the drummer leave his apartment. That would just mean more people he had to keep quiet. He had enough of those already, for various reasons.

"It's almost ten o'clock. You have one, last stage rehearsal at noon."

"Really? Aw, shit..."

He tilted his head a bit as Charles was still standing at the doorframe, his arms crossed and an expectant look on his face.

"Ah-right, I get it," Pickles snickered bitterly, "Ya want me ta leave. I'm goin', I'm goin'."

He rolled out of bed, standing up and stretching. Pickles never had been very modest.

The manager's eyes roamed the younger man's body. But he quickly looked away; not out of politeness, but mainly annoyance. He was angry with himself for even _wanting_ to grab Pickles and give him a passionate kiss goodbye.

This couldn't happen again.

"Am I…gonna see ya later, or…?" Pickles asked, unabashed, as he pulled on his pants.

Charles shook his head, avoiding eye contact.

"Yes, but only briefly to discuss your treatment schedule. I have a lot on my plate for today."

Pickles nodded, frowning. He'd forgotten about rehab. He began to speak again, but the older man's house phone rang urgently. Charles sighed and disappeared into the living room, answering it. The drummer could hear his robotic voice.

"Yes?...what's the problem?...mmhmm…"

His usual, monotonous air erupted into an angry growl.

"_What?!_ Who was fi-…_Skwisgaar?_...is he conscious yet?...yes…"

Pickles furrowed his brow curiously and emerged from the bedroom, watching Charles, who now had a hand to his forehead desperately.

"Yes, well…he went into _surgery?_ Without my _consent?!_ …is he…all right?"

Pickles widened his eyes, but continued to listen.

"Yes, I'll…be there momentarily. Thank you." He hung up.

"What happened?!" Pickles demanded.

Charles clenched his teeth in a very determinedly angry way, grabbing his jacket.

"Skwisgaar and Nathan were fighting and Nathan suffered some major injuries – particularly to the face. This is just _great_. And right before the show…"

"Is he okee?!" Pickles wasn't worried about the goddamn show. He was worried about _Nathan!_

"Oh, um, yes. I suppose so. He had to have surgery to set his jaw and nose, but the doctor said that he's going to be fine."

He grabbed his briefcase, planning on heading to the office afterwards. This little stunt had the potential to double his work for the day; he would have to explain why Nathan had sustained such injuries to many people. It was possible that Nathan could _sue_ Skwisgaar…though without Charles' suggestion, the singer wouldn't think of it himself.

Pickles nodded.

"Okee, good…Jesus, I wonder what dey were fightin' about…" He pulled on his shirt and grabbed his shoes.

"I'm not sure, but it better have been something meaningful."

Charles opened the front door for Pickles, leaving with him. Pickles chuckled.

"You know that it _wasn't_. Nate'n prahbly called him a fag, or somethin'."

Pickles walked out into the hall and Charles turned around to lock the door. As he did, Pickles timidly put a hand on the manager's back, watching him.

"Hey, Charlie?...thanks fer…ya know, takin' me in last night. I musta been a pain in the ass, bein' so drunk, heh."

The manager was momentarily stunned by the sudden physical contact, but he quickly recovered and stood up after locking the door. He turned to Pickles, which inadvertently forced the younger man's hand off of him.

"It's fine," he said plainly, "Perhaps I was wrong to allow you in." But his voice was so flat that it became obvious that he hadn't had a second thought as to whether it was right or wrong.

Pickles narrowed his eyes a bit. Was Charles always this unapologetic? Had it always gone unnoticed?

"Yee-uh," he decided to test him, "I guess ya did kinda take advantage."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"I strictly recall you asking me to." He looked rather unafraid.

Pickles closed the gap between them, wrapping one arm around the manager's neck. He was happy to see that he'd caught Charles slightly off guard. He kept his voice at a whisper now.

"I think you were jes' lonely…" He smiled.

Charles frowned deeply and stepped back, pushing Pickles away.

"I'm never lonely."

His tone became slightly dangerous.

"Don't come back here, Pickles," he ordered. "You're no good for me."

The drummer felt his blood boil. Charles was so fucking _cold_ and it irritated him to no end.

"I don't _plan_ on it," he said through clenched teeth before brushing past him and continuing down the hall that connected to Mordhaus.

But something on the inside urged Pickles to chip away at Ofdensen's shell. There _had_ been a connection there, that he was sure of; he'd also sensed the manager's unsteadiness. By the end of his treatment, he vowed, he would have the older man _completely_ undone. Completely his.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nathan was released from the hospital wing with copious amounts of pain medication. He was sent to his room and stayed in his bed; his face was almost completely bandaged, particularly around his jaw and nose.

Skwisgaar didn't come out of his room either, his door shut and locked. Their rehearsal had been canceled so that Nathan could rest and Pickles, especially, was happy; he was still suffering through a hangover.

The drummer had tried to visit Nathan – but the singer had been very non-responsive and wouldn't talk about the reasons behind the fight. It was pretty obvious that Skwisgaar had been infuriated; as far as Pickles knew, the Swede hadn't really sustained any injuries. So, he assumed, it was Nathan who had opened his big mouth first.

Toki had been trying to busy himself with a model plane, but his concentration slowly slipped as the day progressed; and when he heard that Nathan had returned from surgery, he perked up. He peaked out of his bedroom and saw Pickles leaving the singer's room, looking rather crestfallen.

After the redhead disappeared around the corner, Toki snuck out. He passed Skwisgaar's room, pausing momentarily, but continued on to Nathan's. He knocked softly, to no answer, and pushed the door open shyly.

"…Nathans?"

He shut the door behind him softly. And locked it. He wasn't sure why.

The singer was in his bed, half sitting up, flipping through channels on the large LCD screened TV that hung perpendicular to him. He looked like his usual, sulking, grimacing self – but with two black eyes, a covered nose and bandaged jaw. Toki wondered if he could even talk.

The Norwegian approached his bed cautiously, playing with his own hair in a timid gesture.

"Nathans…hej…ams you okay?"

The singer turned the volume on the TV down and turned, very slowly, to look at Toki.

"Yeah. Ugh, ow…"

"Nathans, don'ts talk! Yous jaw!"

Nathan shook his head sluggishly – it may have been the pain, or the medication that was making him move in slow motion, but Toki didn't know which.

"It was just…out of place. It's fine now...ahh…"

He reached one large hand up to touch the edge of his cheekbone gingerly. Toki nodded and moved to sit beside him on the bed. He sat Indian style, watching Nathan closely.

"Nathans…I-…" he bit his lip and tears were embarrassingly filling his eyes.

"Oh, Toki, don't…don't cry," He was trying to sound annoyed, but it came off as caring, instead.

"I's sorry…so sorry…dis is alls my faults. If I's wouldn'ts have comes in last night…"

Nathan sighed.

"Skwisgaar is just a dick, Toki. He's just fucking paranoid 'cause he's always sleeping around."

Toki took on a rather determined expression, his jaw set.

"Wells, he can'ts just bes a sluts and gets mad at me fors sleepinks wit my friends!"

Nathan raised an eyebrow at the suggestiveness of that statement and Toki hunched his shoulders sheepishly.

"We…we ams _friends_, right Nathans?"

Friends? Is this what Nathan wanted to call them?

"Yeah, sure," the singer muttered.

Toki's eyes lit up significantly. He wanted to hug the older man, but impressively refrained and grinned widely.

"Yous ams da BEST, Nathans!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, just…keep it down."

Toki nodded seriously.

"Wells…at leasts you looks like da badass wit all da blacks eye and everyt'ing."

Nathan couldn't help but chuckle.

"Yeah."

Toki turned to sit beside the singer, facing the TV. They watched a few episodes of a horrible soap opera, mostly in silence. During the last commercial before the credits, the Norwegian turned to Nathan, decided to breach the subject.

"Nathans…why dids you says dat to Skwisgaar?"

The singer kept his eyes on the TV. His felt awful groggy from the Vicodin.

"Say what?"

"Dats…I's nots enough for him."

Nathan froze. Did he really want to delve deeper into the subject? And with _Toki?_ God, he wished he could still drink while taking these fucking pills.

"Uh…well, I dunno. It just seems like...if you _were_ enough…he wouldn't need anyone else, ya know?"

He braved a look at Toki and regretted it; the younger man looked devastated. But he nodded.

"Ja…I t'inks abouts dat sometimes…"

Nathan sighed.

"Look, we…all know that Skwisgaar is a fucking sex addict. It's not your fault you're not a fucking sex machine. He just needs to learn…ya know…restraint."

Toki nodded gravely.

They sat without a word for another few minutes before Toki did something completely unexpected; he moved to straddle Nathan, blocking his view of the TV. He put his hands on the singer's chest, looking down at him with an odd, intense look in his eyes.

"Toki, wha-…what the hell are you doing?!"

The Norwegian bit his bottom lip and Nathan felt his own eyes go slightly wide; why the fuck did Toki have to look so sexy? His long, hair falling on the singer's shoulders…

"Its has to bes fair…" he whispered.

"_What?_ What are you fucking _talking_ about?"

Nathan shifted. The feeling of Toki's legs spread on top of him, their clothed dicks almost touching, was starting to get to him; he was surprised that he could even _get_ hard with how doped up he felt.

The guitarist felt Nathan's cock twitch and he licked his lips.

"I shoulds bes allowed to do whatevers _I_ wants, too…"

"Toki!" Nathan protested, but he was betrayed by his hands instinctively going to Toki's hips. The younger man felt himself getting turned on at that touch, something he was always weak to. "If this leads to me getting my face smashed in again…I'm going to _kill_ you."

Before he knew it, the younger man was trailing kisses down the singer's neck. It felt _good_, it felt soft…almost like a woman. The soft, long hair was a nice addition, too, and Nathan reached up to bury his hair in the brown locks.

Why the hell was he letting this happen?

But his brain wasn't working and he was letting his consciousness slip away, ever so slightly. He felt Toki undoing his pants; he heard Toki mutter something about how big his cock was; he knew, in the back of his mind, where Toki was headed as his sweet kisses trailed down to his stomach.

But he wouldn't stop him.

"Mmm…" he groaned instead.

Toki was determined. He'd earlier considered going out and getting fucked by any random fan or slut he could find; but this was a much better substitution. He deserved this and Nathan was all too willing, he could tell. He wasn't sure if it manipulation, but he didn't care. He was going to put his mouth on another guy's dick, if only to spite Skwisgaar and his stupid, reckless behavior.

Without hesitation, he reached inside of the singer's pants and pulled out his cock, which was already hardening before his eyes. He smiled softly; inside he was curious as to why Nathan was so agreeable and why he had this affect on the older man…but it didn't matter. Not at the moment, anyway.

He began to stroke it, softly at first, and then more fervently when Nathan began to moan, closing his eyes.

"F-Fuck, Toki…"

The Norwegian flicked his tongue across the head and Nathan reached down, burying his hands in Toki's silky hair, tugging slightly. This action encouraged the younger man and he dipped his head, taking nearly half of Nathan's impressive erection in his mouth.

"Shit! God_damnit_, Toki!"

Instead of insisting that the singer shush, Toki simply grabbed the remote that was laying idly by and turned the TV up – no one would question _that_ and it would successfully drown out Nathan's low moaning.

He began to bob, letting out tiny little noises of approval as he did. Fuck. Toki was _good_. He was _talented_. This was like a dream for Nathan…hadn't he dreamt this before? Or maybe merely fantasized…either way, it was heaven.

Toki stretched out his legs, lying on his stomach to concentrate on his work. He was trying hard to deep throat the singer and nearly succeeding; but Nathan was _big_ and he didn't want to choke. He hadn't even gotten used to deep throating Skwisgaar yet, and _that_ was quite a task.

He moved his mouth faster, pausing every now and then to pull off and lick, to keep his jaw from tiring too quickly. He let one of his hands caress Nathan's balls gently, not wanting to over-stimulate the man. The singer seemed to be grateful for _every_ movement of Toki's hand and tongue. He never directed, pleaded, or suggested as Skwisgaar often did. In fact, he didn't really talk at all.

Toki had gotten quite used to hearing strings of Swedish, either in the form of compliments, pet names or cursing. His heart began to ache slightly. And as he looked up, he felt disappointed at the face that was revealed to him. It wasn't Skwisgaar. It wasn't his lover.

But he couldn't stop now. Besides, this was revenge right?

Before he could even consider running away, Nathan's breath hitched and his fist clenched in Toki's hair. He muttered something about cumming, perhaps as a warning, and released into the younger man's mouth.

Toki swallowed what he could – which honestly was mostly all of it – and pulled back, finishing with his hand, letting the singer ride out the orgasm.

After a few moments, Nathan forced his eyes open and looked down at the Norwegian…

…sadly enough, he didn't see what he'd wanted. Toki looked horrified; completely and utterly regretful of what he'd just done. Tears were forming in his eyes and Nathan quickly tried to pull his pants back up, tucking his cock back into them.

"Toki-…"

The guitarist forced a small smile.

"W-…Was its good?"

But a tear trailed down his cheek and he angrily wiped it away, sheepishly fixing his gaze on an unoccupied portion of the mattress.

Nathan didn't answer. He frowned deeply. Toki's voice was barely a whisper.

"I's nots Skwisgaar…I can'ts dos it…I-…"

The singer started to reach out; to do what, he didn't know…pull Toki into a hug?

But the Norwegian jumped up, his tears flowing freely now.

"I's so sorry, Nathans!"

And he dashed out, accidentally slamming the door behind him.

Nathan was left with an absolutely empty feeling. He'd _never_ felt used before. That feeling was for chicks. He reached over to the pill bottle beside his bed and downed two more of the tiny, white capsules.

_Fuck…that was brutal._


	5. Chapter 5

Toki didn't want to sleep alone. He hadn't slept alone in what felt like forever…save a few miserable nights, years ago, when Skwisgaar had stayed out all night. It had been during the Swede's denial phase, when they first became an item. It was painful to think about, but a part of their history nonetheless.

The Norwegian sat on his twin bed, staring at the floor absently. He _couldn't_ go back to Nathan's…but he was trying to avoid Skwisgaar altogether; it made it easier that the blonde hadn't left his room since the morning. Toki knew that he would most certainly burst the next time he gazed into those blue eyes, spilling what he'd done with the singer. He _really_ had no desire to start another fight; however, his guilt was sickening.

Nodding in a determined way, he exited his bedroom and walked slowly down the hall to Skwisgaar's dungeon-like door. He could hear the distinct sound of an unplugged, electric guitar being played furiously, a very talented, slender hand flying up and down the frets. The noise ceased and a few seconds later, the lead guitarist opened the door.

He didn't look at all surprised to see Toki standing there. He, personally, looked like hell - somewhat like a zombie. His usual, unhealthy pallor was even more striking and his eyes sat sunken into deep, dark circles.

"/s/ Come in. /s/"

Toki obeyed and Skwisgaar shut and locked the door behind him. The Swede turned to face his lover, leaning on the door and crossing his arms. His expression was weighty, fixed in a deep frown. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Toki, I-…"

Toki shook his head immediately, standing near the bed.

"No, Skwis, I-…needs to tells you some'ting…"

Skwisgaar took in a deep breath. He'd been preparing himself all day for this…for the moment when Toki left him. When he told him that he wasn't good enough and never would be. The Swede had made up his mind that he would kill himself afterward; it wouldn't be hard. Just a long fall from the top of Mordhaus to the ground. Easy.

"Okays…"

"Buts first," Toki said cautiously, moving to take the blonde's hand. He began to pull him to the bed. "Yous needs to sits down."

Skwisgaar complied, but grimaced. Sitting down wasn't going to make the break up easier. He could be hanging upside down and he'd still reach the same, suicidal ultimatum. His heart ached and he felt it begin to shrivel.

They sat, facing each other, Skwisgaar looking like he wanted to die, Toki looking like he wanted to vomit.

"Skwisgaar, I's…I's screws up real bad."

"Ja?" the Swede asked absentmindedly. He wished he'd stop beating around the bush.

"I…I was jealous dats you gets to just…goes outs and sleeps wit whoevers you wants. I hates it, evens though I say is okays."

"Mmhmm."

"Ands…so I t'inks maybes I do da sames t'ing."

Skwisgaar perked up a bit, furrowing his brow. This wasn't what he'd expected.

"…_what?_"

Toki grabbed a lock of his own hair, twirling it nervously between his fingers. He swallowed hard, his eyes going slightly wide. He nodded.

"Ja, I's…was reals upsets. I-…wants to…makes it even. I t'oughts dat it…mights make me feels better…"

Skwisgaar narrowed his eyes, remaining silent, but clenching his fists on the bedcovers.

Toki continued.

"Sos I…goes to Nathans…and whens he was druggeds up…I…" He bit his lip. He felt that if he made it seem like the singer was completely intoxicated, then it might keep him out of harm's way. "And I sucks his dick."

Toki watched as Skwisgaar's expression took the journey of conveying shock, then fury and finally resting upon hurt. Complete pain. He looked as if he'd been struck in the chest; he'd originally thought that hearing Toki say "I'm leaving you" would be the worst thing that could happen…but now this…

He'd have to _live_ with this. And thus it was worse.

"…._Nathans_…?" Skwisgaar asked softly.

Toki nodded and sobbed once, tears spilling over his eyes and running down his cheeks. The Swede looked absolutely _crushed_ and Toki just wanted everything to be all right again. He exploded, falling to his knees on the ground before Skwisgaar.

"Please, Skwis-…" He sobbed. "/n/ I'm so sorry, please, I immediately regretted it. I was stupid, so so so stupid. All I want is you and I want to be all _for_ you! /n/" He threw his arms around the Swede's stomach, burying his face in his lap and crying hysterically.

"_I want to be all for you_"…Skwisgaar repeated the line in his head.

"Yous…" the Swede began, looking down at the younger man splayed pitifully on his lap, "…wants mes to just wants you, don'ts you? /s/ You think you're not enough for me…like Nathan said. /s/"

His voice held little readable emotion. Toki simply cried harder.

"Nej, I-…/n/ I want you to do whatever you want, I don't care, whatever you want, Skwisgaar…just please don't leave me, please…I can't _live_ without you…I'm sorry, I'll never look at another person again! I just…wanted to make it even, but I hate it! I _hate_ it! /n/"

Skwisgaar felt tears stinging his own eyes. He was actually glad to see Toki so broken over the fact. Sure, inside he was boiling with rage and jealousy, but those emotions could wait. More important things needed to be mended.

"Toki…"

He reached down with one hand and slipped a slender finger underneath the Norwegian's chin. He lifted it, looking into those pale, blue eyes that were now puffy and red from tears.

"Yous don'ts understand…" Skwisgaar whispered, "Yous all I's ever needs. /s/ I realized the other night, when I went out…that I'd rather just sleep by you and hold you than fuck a random slut, or groupie. I just want to be with you. I only want _you_. And from now on, if you promise the same, I'll be completely yours…/s/"

Toki sobbed once more, so very touched by these words.

"Y-…Yous don'ts…wants to leaves me?" He sputtered, wiping his face.

Skwisgaar offered a genuine smile.

"Nej, Toki…I thoughts you was goinks to breaks up wid me."

Toki's eyes widened.

"Never! Nej, I-…I couldn'ts do dat. Sos…no one else, dens, right? Justs us?"

Skwisgaar nodded, never more sure of anything in his entire life.

"Ja. Justs us. /s/ Forever. /s/"

"/s/ Forever. /s/" Toki repeated, with a firm nod.

The younger man crawled up, straddling Skwisgaar on the bed and the Swede placed his hands in their usual place, on his hips. He rubbed softly, affectionately and Toki smiled, putting his forehead to Skwisgaar's. _This_ was where he wanted to be.

"Jeg elsker deg…" Toki whispered.

Skwisgaar nodded and the Norwegian leaned down to capture his lips in a kiss; but he was stopped momentarily as the Swede swallowed hard and responded properly…for the first time.

"J-Jeg elsker deg, Toki…I loves you…"

Toki's lips parted in a soft gasp. He looked into Skwisgaar's swimming, azure eyes and kissed him, a single tear running down his cheek. That meant more to him than anything in the world. And it was then that he truly trusted Skwisgaar – completely and with every part of him.

And Skwisgaar felt the same. So he decided…

"Toki…" he whispered as the Norwegian pushed him back on the bed and began rubbing his chest, looking down at him with adoration.

"Ja?"

"…makes loves to me."

Toki nodded, not catching the serious undertone to his command.

"Ofs course…"

He leaned down and trailed light kisses down the Swede's neck lovingly, his hand running downward to rub his lover's hardening cock through his jeans.

But Skwisgaar shook his head.

"/s/ No…I want you to make love _to_ me…I want you inside of me. /s/"

Toki looked up at him, then sat up, blinking. He studied the Swede's face, looking for uncertainty; but all he found was want and decisiveness.

"Y-…You…wants mes to-…"

Skwisgaar nodded. He continued to rub the younger man's hips encouragingly.

"Ams you…_sure_?"

"Ja, I's sure."

When Skwisgaar Skwigelf made up his mind, he _got_ what he wanted. And he felt this was the only proper way to re-consummate their relationship. It had to happen. And he found that he wasn't so disgusted by the idea anymore. He'd already felt as vulnerable as he possibly could; this couldn't be any worse than readying yourself for suicide while contemplating the possibility that your younger, long-term boyfriend might break up with you.

Toki nodded and suddenly felt his stomach twist into knots; he'd begged for this not days ago, but hadn't realized how nervous he would be once he got his way. What if he screwed it up? What if he wasn't good? What if he really did hurt Skwisgaar and he could never do it again?

The horror must have shown on his face, because Skwisgaar smiled softly and ran his hands up the Norwegian's chest.

"Relax," he purred, "its will bes fine. I's will helps you."

Toki felt his heart burst with affection for the Swede. This night seemed surreal; it was all too perfect. He nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

"Okays."

They began by stripping, to make the process as uncomplicated as possible. They lay in bed, wrapped up in each other, kissing heatedly and allowing their hands to roam. Once they both had full on erections, they were satisfied with the initial foreplay.

"Nnng….p-please…" Swkwisgaar begged, "/s/ I need you…/s/"

Toki went back to his earlier position, straddling the older man. He smiled reassuringly down at him; he could see the stress beginning to form in the lead's eyes and he didn't want to give the Swede a chance to change his mind.

It was true that Skwisgaar was beginning to lose his nerve slightly; it had been a nice idea. Hell, he'd even tried to finger himself in the shower a few days ago, wanting to familiarize himself with the sensation in case the topic was ever breached again. But simply thinking about it and actually _doing_ it were to very, very different things.

_Toki is NOT raping you_… he had to remind himself.

No. This wasn't rape; it was consensual. And beautiful. And _meaningful_. There was love here; and compassion and a bond that Skwisgaar couldn't explain, or put into words.

He felt the younger man trailing wet kisses down his stomach and then mercifully taking the Swede's cock in his mouth. The sensation alone was enough to momentarily clear Skwisgaar's doubt, as well as any other form of thought.

"Ohhhh….ja…./s/ Right there, yes…/s/"

Toki made a small, affirming noise as he bobbed slowly, taking his sweet time. He didn't want to rush this and he wanted Skwisgaar to be _ready_ – both physically and mentally.

After a few moments, he pulled away, much to the blonde's dismay, to grab a brand new bottle of lube from the top drawer. He smiled at the fact that Skwisgaar had already thought to replace the empty one, though he wasn't sure when that had occurred.

"/n/ I'm back! /n/" Toki said cutely, situating himself back in between the older man's legs.

Skwisgaar eyed the lube and watched the Norwegian's face carefully.

"Starts slow, ja?" He suggested.

Toki nodded.

"Don'ts worry, Skwis…just likes before – I's nots going to hurts you."

His voice was soothing and eventually the Swede nodded and lay his head back down to stare up at the ceiling. For some reason, his eyes kept darting to very familiar things around the room: the fur rug he'd bought in Stockholm years ago, his favorite Explorer in the corner, the old and tattered metronome on his nightstand… It made him feel better.

He was glad to feel Toki's mouth return to his slightly wilting cock. It hardened up in response and he moaned gratefully. At least the younger man knew to distract him.

Toki found it difficult to give a good blow job while trying to slick his finger with lube, but he somehow managed. He'd found that gay sex had increased his ability to multi-task, even more than playing guitar did. Maybe because he'd always been more focused on the former.

He worked his tongue expertly and once he had the blonde groaning and writhing, he pressed one finger very slowly into the older man's entrance. It went in quite easily, past the tight ring of muscle with little resistance and Skwisgaar gasped.

Toki pulled his mouth off of his lover's hard flesh, but placed his hand on it instead so that he could talk.

"/n/ How does that feel, hmm? /n/"

He squeezed Skwisgaar's cock to emphasize his question, stroking it in time with the thrusts of his finger. Once the Swede finally relaxed into this, he looked down at Toki desperately; he looked so beautiful it almost shattered the rhythm's heart.

Skwisgaar seemed to be looking at him for reassurance – to make sure that it was still _Toki_ down there. And the younger man simply smiled, his eyes kind. The way the blonde breathed so quickly, his face flushed, his mouth parted…gorgeous.

"/s/ A-…Add a-a..another…o-one…/s/"

The Swede reached down to stroke Toki's hair affectionately; but as Toki added a second finger, Skwisgaar cried out, gripping the younger man's hair, as if to keep him from leaving. He arched his back and the sound that came out was halfway between a sob and a pant.

Toki didn't mind that his hair was being tugged; he knew that Skwisgaar just needed to hold onto him, to ensure that this was real and that he was the one inside of him.

"/n/ It's okay…just relax, it will feel better…/s/" he cooed.

Skwisgaar shut his eyes tightly, forcefully willing away the part of him that screamed and cried at the intrusion.

"_Just shut your mouth, your mom can't hear you."_

"_O-Ow…but it hurts so BAD…" _

"_You deserved it, you little brat. Don't you-…DON'T LOOK AT ME!"_

"/n/ It's just me, Skwis…it's just Toki…/n/"

"_Please, I want my MOMMY!"_

"_Your mom doesn't give a SHIT about you….mmm….yeah, just stay there boy…"_

"…Skwis?"

"_Your tight little ass…_"

"_Ow, please…please, no, please, it hurts…mommy, mommy, please save me…_"

"Skwisgaar!"

The Swede hadn't realized that he'd been sobbing. Toki was no longer inside of him; he was hovering over him, looking down at him in a mix of horror and confusion.

"Skwis…I-…a-ams you okay?"

Skwisgaar's vision seemed to come back into focus as his mind whipped itself back into the present. His face was wet and his body was shaking uncontrollably. Toki's own eyes began to tear up as he shook his head softly.

"I's so sorry…I's don'ts want to hurts you aniesmore…"

He threw himself onto the blonde, hugging him tightly, continually muttering his apologies. Skwisgaar simply blinked and pulled the younger man close.

"I's okay, Toki…shh, I's fine…"

Toki lifted his head, his eyes wide as Skwisgaar began to rub his back softly.

"I should be comfortings YOU, not..not dis ways around!"

The Swede scrunched his brow as he began to trace the younger man's jaw and forehead, just watching the lines. Looking into Toki's eyes, he realized; he needed _this_ connection. He wiped away a tear that had recently fallen and he took in a deep, steadying breath.

"/s/ Toki…stay here, please…like this. And make love to me. /s/"

"But, Skwis-!"

Skwisgaar pleaded with his eyes and Toki could do nothing but succumb.

"/n/ Are you sure you still want to? /s/"

The blonde nodded.

Toki swallowed hard, but nodded back. He kept his eyes locked with Skwisgaar's as he lifted the Swede's legs a bit for easier access, lifting his hips along with them. He slicked his own, neglected cock with more of the warming lube and positioned himself.

He pushed himself slowly into Skwisgaar and felt the Swede dig his nails into his back, his entire body tensing. Still gazing, as lovingly as he could, into the blonde's eyes, he spoke softly.

"/n/ You have to _relax_, Skwisgaar…relax and let me in…let me in, I won't hurt you. /n/"

Toki's words registered slowly in the older man's brain and he took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it out through his mouth unsteadily; but he nodded and spread his legs wide, trying hard to let go and loosen himself to the point of complete reception.

The Norwegian couldn't suppress a moan as he was welcomed further and deeper into Skwisgaar. His eyes fluttered shut momentarily; but the Swede let escape a tiny whimper and so he opened them again for assurance.

"J-Jeg elsker deg, Skwisgaar…" he whispered, putting his forehead to the lead guitarist's.

Finally, Skwisgaar broke their gaze as he allowed his head to fall back. The stretching of his entrance hadn't been nearly as painful as he'd imagined; he was even beginning to feel Toki brush a certain, sensitive and tingly spot within him that sent a shiver up his spine.

"/s/ M-More…/s/" he begged. And Toki pushed in deeper.

The Swede used his hands, moving them to Toki's lower back, to push the younger man in as far as he would go. He didn't care about the initial, uncomfortable burning. He wanted Toki completely _in_ him, a part of him. Toki gasped

"S-Skwisgaar…"

Mercifully, the Norwegian began moving, very slowly – thrusting in and out in a steady motion. He was trying very hard to contain himself; it just felt so _good_ and Skwisgaar was so tight around him. But his main concern wasn't his own pleasure: it was his lover's needs.

"/n/ A-Are you…okay? /n/"

Skwisgaar actually smiled, his head back and eyes closed; he looked euphoric.

"/s/ Yes….please – move…deeper, faster…nnngg…I love you…/s/"

Toki kissed along the Swede's jaw line amorously before quickening and deepening his thrusts. Their bodies moved together, a thin sheet of sweat forming on their skin. Intermittently there would be words of encouragement, or just incoherent whispering, that told each other that they were equally in the moment together. Skwisgaar could no longer think anything that wasn't Toki. He _was_ Toki. He tightened his legs around the younger man, in a possessive way, moaning and pleading.

Pain and pleasure and experience and passion and lives intertwined; there was a depth to their understanding of one another that would breach all previous notions they'd developed of each other. Dethklok, guitar, model planes, money, fame, candy, family, friends, fans, their pasts and their futures were irrelevant: completely and wholly obsolete, forgotten in the oblivion that was anything aside from their bodies.

There was a white hot fire in Toki's chest and it burst forth when, after several minutes of thrusting, he exploded, crying out with a surrendering shudder. It wasn't long after that Skwisgaar clenched around the younger man and gave into his release gratefully. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was surprised that he was able to achieve orgasm, but he didn't argue.

They lay together, a sweaty, heaving mess until Toki had the mind to pull out gently and fall beside the older man. Skwisgaar nearly sobbed from the empty feeling that followed, but Toki was there to hold him and he readily moved to the embrace.

Once he finally caught his breath, Toki whispered.

"Skwisgaar…"

The Swede buried his face in Toki's neck, clinging to him.

"…/s/ don't let go. /s/"

Toki shook his head and kissed the top of Skwisgaar's head once.

"/n/ Never. /n/"


	6. Chapter 6

Skwisgaar wouldn't let Toki go. They'd showered together, eaten breakfast while holding hands and now the Swede held the younger man on his lap while they watched TV in the living room of Mordhaus. He put his forehead to Toki's shoulder, his arms around him securely, and closed his eyes, drifting to sleep. After last night, he'd become unbelievably clingy. Toki didn't mind one bit.

Pickles was sitting on an adjacent sofa, looking rather pale; his treatment was to start today and he'd gone an entire twenty-four hours without any substances. Ofdensen had been rather indirect about their meeting; he'd simply left a letter for the drummer in his room, telling him where to be and who to speak with when he got to the medical wing.

Classy.

It would've sent Pickles into a fury had he not been so distracted by his sobriety. He seemed rather dazed and lifeless, but no one wanted to bring that up, considering it would seem _way_ too caring.

Nathan was still confined to his room; their show was the next day, in the evening, and the singer needed to be in full working condition. But they hadn't practiced in days, or even run through the actual set list. Charles would see to it, later, that they accomplished all the little things they were so annoyingly reticent to complete.

But for now the manager felt pretty useless.

He was sitting at the desk in his office, the lights dim and his glasses off. Rubbing his temples in small circles, a deep frown was set on his face. He could feel the pulsing in his brain – the intense pain that sometimes paralyzed him.

_Great…a migraine. That's just what I need._

His back ached and eyes burned, and if he opened his eyes he could see dancing white lights, spotting across his vision. These attacks were rare, but powerful and often sudden. He knew that he would be debilitated for the next few hours, at least.

He just wanted to crawl into bed and allow his brain to hemorrhage. Maybe that would relieve the pressure.

"Fuck…"

Vaguely, he heard the soft knocking at his door, but it felt too distant to answer. He let out a very low groan, trying to focus on the circular motions his fingers were making on his forehead.

He didn't remember saying "Come in," and yet he heard the distinct sound of the door opening and closing. He heard the clicking of the lock as though it were a blow-horn through the mountains and he winced.

"I'm busy," he managed to growl. Even his own voice furthered his pain.

There was a snicker.

"I can tell."

It was Pickles' distinct voice. Ugh, he didn't have time to deal with this. He needed to go home…to go lie down, or suffocate himself.

"Pickles…" he breathed, not even looking up, continuing his circles, "you're not to come _here_ for rehab…it's…down in the medical wing."

The drummer hadn't expected Charles to be in such a vulnerable state…but it suited him just fine. He knew that the manager sporadically got migraines and that they usually sent him home, or into seclusion for hours on end. The thought of the haughty, prissy older man being incapacitated for a while was exciting…

_Perfect_.

He'd been waiting for his chance to find the manager defenseless. It was only fair, after all, and Pickles was ready to assert himself as something to be reckoned with, something to pay attention to…

…not just some "on call" boy toy, as he'd felt the previous times. No, he had to stand out. It was really for his own good.

"I know dat. I jes'…came to see ya…"

He grinned devilishly and his eyes flickered to the pill bottle sitting atop Ofdensen's desk. He walked casually over to it and picked it up, quietly. Yep. For his head.

Charles sounded more than annoyed.

"Well I'm rather…not feeling well at the moment, so if you don't mind…"

Another piercing pain in his frontal lobe and he couldn't suppress a low groan.

"Yee-uh, I can tell." Pickles tone was almost teasing. He shook the pill bottle, raising his eyebrows in mock concern.

"Have ya…taken any 'a these?"

Oh, right! His Excedrin. He _needed_ that. He'd forgotten that he'd even gotten it out of his desk. He reluctantly removed one of his hands from his aching forehead and held out his hand, palm out.

"No…get me three of them."

Pickles chuckled, making no attempt to even open the damn bottle.

"Aw, c'man now…yer awful bossy, even when yer sick…"

Charles finally looked up; his eyes were bleary and unfocused, but still managed to convey aggravation. In the dim light, Pickles noticed more clearly the beautiful, russet color of his eyes. They were such a dark brown and almond-shaped. So very handsome.

"I'm not _sick_. Give me those."

Pickles nodded, jumping to sit up on his desk now, turning to face the manager, who could do nothing but remain seated. If he dared move, his head would throb so badly that it very well may send him to the floor in agony. Pickles looked rather unforgiving, but continued to feign worry.

"Yee-uh, you prably definitely need these. Or it'll get a lat worse, huh?" He took to examining the label carefully, still leaving the bottle unopened.

Then the manager switched his strategy. He knew that he and Pickles hadn't exactly left on the greatest note last time and the drummer probably wasn't all too inclined to help him at the moment.

"Please," he softened his voice and moved both hands back to rub his temples once more, closing his eyes, "please, Pickles, just…it hurts very badly."

Pickles nodded.

"Yee-uh…bet it does."

He raised an eyebrow almost seductively as his eyes ran down the manager's body; _Jesus_, he was fine. Especially now. His tie was undone, his hair slightly ruffled. He looked quite fuck-able.

Charles was becoming irritated; he wasn't sure whether Pickles thought he was being playful, or just plain annoying. Or maybe he had more nefarious intentions…

Nevertheless, it was too damn hard to focus. He could barely stand to open his eyes; the pulsing behind them made it feel like they would explode if he did. He heard the drummer's careful footsteps as he made his way around the desk. He could feel Pickles' very close to him now and felt the younger man's hands on his tie.

"Maybe takin' this off'll help." He undid the knot and flung the tie sloppily on the desk without folding it. He knew Charles _hated_ that. "Yep, ya look better already."

He felt vindicated at the growl that escaped the debilitated manager's lips. Charles kept his voice low.

"What are you_ doing?_ Just give me the goddamn medicine and get the hell out, Pickles."

Pickles felt his stomach jump at the reaction he was getting. It was delightful – Ofdensen couldn't even _move!_ But he had to make sure that this was true…that there would be no way the manager could stop him from…

…from whatever it was he was going to do. He wasn't quite sure.

"Hm…you tahk too much. I think ya need ta learn how ta _listen_."

A wicked smile crossed his face. His eyes flickered to the door momentarily, to make sure that he had indeed locked it. Once he was satisfied, he grabbed the tie he'd just pulled off of Ofdensen and reached into the first drawer of his desk.

Perfect.

There were a pair of black-handled scissors waiting for him and he gratefully picked them up. Charles dared to open his eyes again, splotches of white clouding his vision. He was beginning to sound slightly more pathetic.

"…w-…what are you doing…?"

He heard the easily recognizable noise of scissors meeting fine silk and he jerked – big mistake. He'd tried to turn toward Pickles, but his head felt like it weighed a million pounds and he immediately yelped, letting his head fall back into his hands.

Pickles made a condescending "tsk tsk" noise, finishing cutting the tie in half.

"Ya really should jes' stay still, Charlie…relax…"

The manager couldn't even muster a growl anymore. He sat back in his chair and let his head fall back, his hands now lax at his sides. Pickles nearly chuckled – he had no idea how he was setting himself up…

After setting the scissors down, he slowly stepped behind the manager's leather chair. Charles felt his wrists being picked up, but it seemed that his muscles were unable to resist. The pain in his head increased and for a moment he fell slightly unconscious, as if inebriated – it may have just been his brain trying to take him away from all the unendurable throbbing…

…when he regained consciousness, he found his hands bound behind his back, in a sturdy knot. He opened his mouth to protest, only to find he was gagged with the same material. All that came out was a muffled "Agh!"

Pickles was sitting, cross-legged, in front of him, on the desk, surveying his work. The pill bottle was beside him, completely out of reach. The pain had not subsided, but he felt slightly more aware; perhaps it was his adrenaline.

He looked, wide-eyed, at Pickles for a moment with an inquisitively outraged expression. It wasn't long, however, until he was forced to hang his head and close his eyes to stop the dancing lights.

"Ya gat awful quiet, Charlie. Glad ya ain't dead. Or asleep. I really needed ya awake for this…"

Pickles hopped down and moved behind him once more. He gently placed his hands on the manager's shoulder, rubbing mercifully.

" 'Cause I need ta teach ya a lesson, Charlie…a lesson on how you should treat other people. Particularly…"

He emphasized his importance with a harsh squeeze behind the neck. Charles actually whimpered.

"…me."

_God_, this was too much…too many sensations. And Jesus, the pain…it was too intense. Charles felt as if he was ready to die. In his previous line of work, he'd felt like that a lot and now he just wished to either hemorrhage, or pass out. He kept begging no one in particular in his head to allow one of those two things to happen.

"I like ya like this…" Pickles admitted as he swiftly moved around to crawl onto Charles' lap and straddle him in his chair. The drummer was a particularly small man and was glad he could maneuver himself this way.

"All weak 'n everything. Quiet."

He leaned in, kissing gingerly up the older man's neck and stopping at his ear. He whispered, his voice acidic.

"Don't ever treat me like a whore, ya gat that? I ain't yer whore, Charlie…I know that ya care about me. Yer jes' used ta bein' a dick and ya think ya can jes' get what ya want, when ya want it. Well it ain't gonna happen that way…nat with me."

He trailed a hand down meaningfully to the older man's belt buckle. Then he moved his hand just slightly lower to caress Ofdensen's dick through his pants.

Charles didn't moan with pleasure, but it was pleading. He couldn't handle _that_, not right now. It was also the lack of control that was feeding his anxiety and all of this wasn't helping his migraine. It was becoming angrier at him as his body tried to respond to Pickles' hand.

There he was, his brain bursting with untreated pain, tied up, defenseless…and Pickles the drummer from Dethklok was trying to get him hard. It all seemed so absurd, though he had a hard time being objective about it at the moment. Had he been able to talk and function, he may have teased the younger man by asking him if he thought he was trying to _rape_ Charles.

The thought would've been funny then. It wasn't funny now.

"Here's how this is gonna go," Pickles began, still whispering. "Once I feel like ya've gat the proper respect fer me, then Ah'll give ya the medicine ya need. Fair?"

Ofdensen coughed a whimper that wasn't necessarily an agreement of any kind.

"Good."

The drummer continued rubbing for a moment, but then tilted his head to the side, watching Charles' face.

"Yer nat getting' very hard…"

He smiled viciously and dropped to his knees in front of the man. He unzipped the manager's pants and took out his cock. He swiped one, long lick up the length and felt it twitch.

Ofdensen made an interrogating noise at the back of his throat; how the hell was his cock even responding? He would've thought that all the blood was in his head, ready to pop out his eyeballs and ears at any moment.

"I think yer body wants this," Pickled cooed. "I think it likes me."

Charles would've rolled his eyes at what a smartass Pickles was being, but that would've been suicide. Instead he huffed tersely and the drummer smiled just before bending down to nearly swallow the manager whole.

For just a split second, it was all Charles felt – the head of his cock nearly touching the back of the younger man's throat. He was unable to stop himself from making a high-pitched noise, but was quickly brought back down to earth, to his pulsing brain. He whimpered. If Pickles thought this was some sort of kinky remedy for migraines, he was wrong.

As Pickles began to bob, sucking Ofdensen's quickly hardening length rather eagerly and pulling off to lick at the tip, Charles' mind was torn between two overwhelming sensations. It was _agonizing_ and the manager felt that he would either explode or be torn in half. He now had a full-on, raging erection, much to the surprise of both men.

Pickles slowed his onslaught, not wanting the older man to cum any time soon. He rolled his eyes up to watch Charles' face, smiling to himself. Good. He was writhing. He pulled off to make a point, stroking him idly with his hand.

"Ya can't always be in control, can ya Charlie?" He licked up him once more, drawing a muffled cry from the manager. "Even if I have to _force_ ya ta be submissive…maybe next time you'll do it willingly."

He went back to work and his words bounced around inside Charles' head, to be digested later. He was too over-stimulated to make sense of the situation. He desperately wanted to go home. He _needed_ his medicine.

Despite the seemingly dominant act of having Pickles suck his cock, he felt completely acquiescent and obedient, lacking the coherency to protest.

_Please, please, let it be over….no, no, don't stop ohhhh….I want to DIE…please, just…_

He started to struggle slightly against his wrist restraints, but to no avail; if he'd been in full strength, he may have been able to expertly break or undo the hold. But for now his arms felt limp comparatively.

Pickles was still moving excruciatingly slow, though still sucking hard and moving his head up and down Charles' cock. He reached into the manager's pants with his only free hand to caress his balls. He wanted as much of the older man's attention as he could receive, which currently was more than Pickles could've guessed.

_The pain…the throbbing…the light…the pleasure…Pickles' warm mouth…the silk tie…_

"Uhhhhnf…"

Charles let out a low moan that made Pickles moan in response.

_Weakness…exposure…want…lust…pulsing…delusions…_

"Mmm, I wan ya ta cum Charlie…"

_Hatred…anger…defenselessness…surrender…_

…_release…_

He came with a terse grunt followed by a soft whimper into Pickles' mouth. The drummer swallowed it all, feeling powerful and in control. Charlie had even cum on his command.

After placing the manager's tender cock back into his pants, he stood up and removed the gag from Charles' mouth. Charles let his head fall back, eyes still closed, gasping for breath. Pickles retreated momentarily to fetch a glass of water. He returned, grabbing the pill bottle and finally twisting open the child-proof cap.

He emptied three capsules into his hand and set the bottle aside.

"Here."

He untied the manager's hands and handed him the water and pills. Charles took them weakly, but gratefully, and finally swallowed them. He set the glass back down on his desk, his body still unsettled and his mind now returning fully to the pain.

"C'man, let's get you ta bed…"

Pickles half carried the manager back to his apartment, actually feeling sorry for him. He didn't regret what he'd done…though it wasn't necessarily in his usual laid-back character to do so. He'd hoped that he'd made his point, loud and clear.

He assisted the older man in stripping to his underwear and he tucked him into bed, turning off the light.

"Pickles…" Charles finally managed to gasp, setting his glasses on the nightstand beside him.

"Yee-uh?"

He was standing by the door, ready to leave.

"When you're done…with your session…with your treatment today…"

Pickles smiled softly.

"I'll come back 'n check up on ya. Go on ahead 'n rest."

And he was gone.


End file.
